Better Than Revenge
by Celandine Brandybuck
Summary: Sometimes an enemy cannot remain an enemy: in Godric's Hollow, Harry has to decide what to do when Draco Malfoy appeals to him for help. Slash. NOW COMPLETE.
1. At The Boar and Apple

**1. At the _Boar and Apple_**

Rain trickled down the cracked and dingy panes of glass as Harry gloomily gazed out through them. This tiny room in the pub called _The Boar and Apple_ would be all right to sleep in, he decided, but it was annoying to be stuck in it when he wanted to be out in the village of Godric's Hollow, looking for the house his parents had once occupied. He could have gone out anyhow, of course, but he had forgotten to bring an umbrella and it was raining hard enough that he would be sopping wet before he had gone a hundred yards. The last thing he wanted was to catch a cold that would keep him from doing whatever he needed to do to track down Voldemort's remaining four Horcruxes. Delaying until after Bill and Fleur's wedding had chafed at him and he had no desire to have to wait any longer.

It had been a good wedding, though. Despite his bad mood, Harry grinned, remembering Ron's embarrassment when Hermione had caught the bridal bouquet. Mrs. Weasley had been beside herself the entire day and had sobbed audibly when the happy couple exchanged their vows, and again when they Disapparated together to their honeymoon in Majorca. Perhaps the most remarkable sight of the entire event had been Hagrid dancing with Madam Maxime; no one else had dared venture out when that couple took the floor. Harry had, somewhat reluctantly, stayed on at the Burrow for several days to help the Weasleys clear up, but as soon as possible he had come directly here. Somehow it had seemed right to begin his search where Voldemort had been thwarted by Lily Potter's sacrifice. Now he was trapped without even Hedwig to talk to; he could not keep her with him when he was pretending to be an ordinary Muggle. He decided to go down and have an orange juice to pass the time. Luckily Bill had been able to exchange some Galleons for him at Gringotts, so he had sufficient Muggle money to pay for his room and meals for several weeks at least.

He had had his drink, ordered and eaten a meal, and was poking at the last few chips on the plate when as sudden gust of air suggested that another patron had entered the building, but no one came into the room where Harry was sitting. He shrugged and counted out money to pay his bill, dropping it on the table and setting the vinegar cruet on top to make sure it would not fly away in another draft. It must have been some other poor sod trapped by the weather and taking a room.

When he walked out into the entryway, though, his gaze fell on the sleek fair head of perhaps the last person in the world he would have expected to find here, and rage rose to choke him as he recognized Draco Malfoy, waiting at the desk. Harry moved to stand behind him and said quietly, "I don't know what you think you're doing here, but I'd advise you to leave. Now." He turned on his heel and walked up the stairs, shaking with the effort not to pull out his wand and finish Malfoy right then.

Fumbling with the key to open his room, he heard footsteps, and with little surprise saw Malfoy coming towards him. "Harry."

"You... don't... call... me... Harry," Harry hissed at him. "There had better be some reason for this." He had his wand out and ready, and used it to gesture Malfoy into the room.

"Potter, then." Malfoy's voice trembled, just slightly, but Harry heard it as he snapped on the dingy light and shut the door. He took the lone chair. Malfoy, after looking around, sat tentatively on the bed, then took out his wand and deliberately stretched to lay it down on the far edge, where he could not reach it again without giving Harry enough time to stop him.

It was obvious that he wanted to assure Harry of his peaceful intentions, but Harry was not going to trust him so quickly; he kept a firm grasp on his own wand.

"How'd you find me, anyhow?" asked Harry.

"Went to Weasley and asked. He said you would be here," Malfoy said dully. "I think he was too astonished to see me to realize what he was saying, though, so don't get angry with him about it. I would've asked Granger, she was easier to spot in that crowd of redheads, but she would never have told me." He fell silent, picking at a loose thread on the duvet.

Harry waited for a while for Malfoy to continue, but as the silence grew longer, he said, more gently than he intended, "But why?"

Malfoy looked up and straight into Harry's eyes. "You were there, weren't you. I saw the second broomstick. You were there, under that Invisibility Cloak."

"Yeah, I was there," said Harry roughly, any sympathy he might have begun to feel erased by the reminder of Dumbledore's death. "What's it to you? Your mission's complete, even if it took Snape to manage it. You should be happy."

The sight of tears rolling down Malfoy's cheeks shocked Harry into silence. Malfoy, crying? His first reaction was a hard resentment that Malfoy would try to manipulate him into sympathy, but reason asserted itself. It had to be real. The Draco Malfoy he had known for the past six years would never humble his pride enough to playact this way.

"I didn't do it, Potter, I didn't want to, you saw that yourself, I had to try or he'd kill me and my family too, but I didn't and he's going to kill me anyway for failing him. Dumbledore said he could protect me, and now you're my only chance, no one else would believe that I didn't want to kill him, they'd think I was just too weak to manage it. But Professor Snape taught you Legilimency, didn't he? You can tell I'm telling the truth." Malfoy spoke in an urgent rush.

Harry shook his head. "He only taught me Occlumency, Malfoy. I can't read your thoughts. And I wasn't even very good at Occlumency," he admitted, disconcerting himself by that confession.

Malfoy's shoulders slumped and his mouth twisted in despair. "I've done this for nothing, then."

"Why did you come to me, though?" asked Harry. "I mean, you could have gone to the Minister of Magic, or if you didn't trust Scrimgeour – I know I wouldn't – to one of the Hogwarts professors, Professor Flitwick for instance. They all know it was Snape who killed Dumbledore. They wouldn't have thrown you in Azkaban or anything like that, not without giving you a chance to defend yourself before the Wizengamot."

"He'd have found out where I am, if I went to any of them. They'd keep me somewhere until a trial, and that would be the end of me, he'd find me before any trial. The only reason I'm still alive is because I keep moving." Malfoy pressed his hands to his eyes, and when he lowered them Harry could see the dark circles of exhaustion. He now noticed, too, that Malfoy's Muggle clothes were rumpled and grimy. "I haven't slept more than one night anywhere since... since I left Hogwarts. I can't go to anyone in my family, or to any of my friends, he'll be expecting that, and some of them might turn me in to him. There isn't anyone I can trust."

Harry nodded, thinking hard. Malfoy was probably right in his estimation of Voldemort's ability to find him if he tried to take refuge with any of his old associates. But Harry thought he was wrong in assuming that going to – say – Professor McGonagall would be as dangerous as he believed. Dumbledore had promised that he could protect Malfoy and his family too; the Headmaster must have had some plan, even if Harry had no idea what it could have been. Someone else among the Order might know. Lupin, for one, had plenty of experience in keeping apart from other wizards. Why would Dumbledore have helped Malfoy, though, after Malfoy's attempts to kill him? Dumbledore had always trusted too easily that Voldemort's followers could change, and look where his trust of Snape had led. But he _had_ offered that promise, and Malfoy had not in fact harmed Dumbledore even with four Death Eaters urging him on. Harry swallowed hard and looked over again at his old enemy.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you," Malfoy said with an attempt to retrieve his dignity. "I'll leave now." He began to reach for his wand, but Harry interrupted.

"Wait, Malfoy."

Somewhat to his surprise, Malfoy stopped.

"I believe you didn't really want to kill Dumbledore," said Harry slowly. "But you made it possible for Snape to do it."

"Yes," said Malfoy, his voice almost inaudible.

"And you know I've always been Dumbledore's man," Harry continued. Each time he said his old mentor's name, it became easier. "So I have to ask you again, why come to me? Why did you think I'd help you?"

Again, a long silence in which Malfoy looked down at the tatty bit of the duvet he had been unraveling, but this time Harry was determined to let Malfoy be the one to break it. Five minutes, ten, fifteen went by. Malfoy gave a great sigh.

"You've never understood, have you? You're The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, you can do no wrong. Your friends love you. I'd have given anything to be friends with you, but my family... I couldn't go against them, you know, or no, you don't because you don't have one. You're lucky," he said caustically. "But I've watched you, I know I've treated you badly, and Weasley and Granger as well just because they were your friends and I wished I could be and I couldn't, I've wanted to..." his mouth snapped shut before finishing the sentence and he looked aghast.

"Wanted to what?" asked Harry, bemused by this renewed torrent of words.

Malfoy shook his head frantically. "Nothing. Nothing. I have to leave. I've been here too long already."

Before Malfoy could move, though, Harry pointed his wand and said, "_Accio_." Malfoy's wand landed neatly in his hand.

"No, you have to finish telling me if you want me to help you," Harry said. He realized in a distant part of his mind that he had decided to help Malfoy, that he believed this was what Dumbledore would have wanted him to do, although he was unsure just how he could manage it. But he found himself extremely curious about what Malfoy had been going to say, and determined to find that out before he did anything else.

"I can't," Malfoy clenched his fists until Harry could see the skin whiten over his knuckles. "It won't make any difference, you'll just hate..." he broke off.

"I'll what? I'll hate you?" Harry snorted. "If I can even think about helping you now, after Dumbledore died because of you, what can you possibly say that would make me hate you more? Don't be a coward, Malfoy. Say it, whatever it is."

Malfoy's face changed for a split second to anger, which quickly gave way to, of all things, a kind of bitter amusement, and he sat up a little straighter. Harry could almost see him pulling his pride around himself like a cloak. "All right, Potter. You asked what I've wanted; I've wanted to kiss you." He looked at Harry and then deliberately added, "And more."

Harry's breath rushed out of him and he leaned back in the chair, but retained a firm grip on the two wands. He did not want Malfoy leaving before he had figured this out. "You wanted to kiss me?" he repeated.

"Yes, I-wanted-to-kiss-you," said Malfoy, in what Harry recognized as an attempt to imitate his own voice, and then bit his lip. Harry could see the white teeth against tender pink flesh.

Hermione had told him earlier that year that he had grown quite fanciable, and Ginny had certainly thought so, but it had never occurred to Harry that Draco Malfoy would see him in that light. His brain seemed to have gone into a loop, repeating the words, "I've wanted to kiss you. And more," over and over. Malfoy kiss him? He and Ron had fooled about a few times at the Burrow, and it had been fun, but nothing serious. Nothing like with Ginny. Malfoy had watched him so closely and so long that he thought he could trust Harry to help him, despite all their enmity, could trust Harry so much that he would confess to wanting to kiss him? Harry felt completely bewildered. An hour ago he would have listed Malfoy third among those he most loathed in the world, and yet here was Malfoy saying that he had wanted to be friends with Harry for years, even fancied him?

It did not occur to Harry to doubt the sincerity of Malfoy's words. The other boy was obviously too distraught to be lying, he was almost babbling.

Malfoy had continued talking. "I'm ten kinds of a fool, I know that, you've seen the worst of it now and if you'll give me back my wand, please, I'll just leave. I know you despise me and there's probably nothing you can do to help anyway even if you wanted to, I was an idiot to think you would or could, just forget I ever came here, all right? I won't bother you again, just let me..."

Harry had reached a conclusion. It might not be the right thing to do, especially not now, but if he was going to try to help Malfoy it seemed like the only way to calm him down and keep him from doing something idiotic like rushing out of there without even his wand. Ginny, he thought, understood necessity. And Dumbledore had always said that love was Harry's best defense against Voldemort. He broke into Malfoy's apologetic outburst. "Draco."

"What?" Malfoy looked astonished to be addressed by his first name. "What is it, Pot... Harry?"

"Shut up and kiss me."

* * *

** Author's note:** The title comes from a quotation by the third-century author Diogenes Laërtius: "Forgiveness is better than revenge." This story was written for the August 2005 challenge at The Hex Files, which called for a story that ended with this final line.


	2. In Harry's Room

**2. In Harry's Room**

If Draco had had any clear expectation of what might happen once he finally managed to track Potter down, he was due to be disappointed. He had believed, from bits and pieces he had gleaned from overhearing Professor Snape, that Potter was a Legilimens, that he would be able to take advantage of that skill to prove to the other boy that he had been genuinely unwilling to kill the Headmaster. After that, he hoped, Potter's hatred for Lord Voldemort would convince him to help Draco.

When he had first learned that Lord Voldemort had chosen him for the task, he had been proud to accept the Dark Mark, confident that he could redeem the Malfoy family honor. Using the pair of Vanishing Cabinets had seemed a brilliant idea, but mending the one in the Room of Requirement had taken him far longer than he had anticipated. He had had to rely on an increasingly reluctant Crabbe and Goyle to keep a lookout as he worked, and even to plead illness so that he could use the time of Slytherin's Quidditch matches to continue his efforts. As the weeks went by without noticeable progress, he had been forced to try hastily-improvised alternative plans so that he could report he had done _something_, but he never thought that either the cursed necklace or the poisoned mead were likely to work, and did not much care when they did not. Each day that passed, each day that he again spent every spare moment working out how he could achieve Dumbledore's elimination, he grew a little sicker at the thought of actually being responsible for another wizard's death. But if he did not succeed, he would leave not only himself but his parents vulnerable to Lord Voldemort's wrath. Though he had never been close to either his mother or his father, still the family loyalty that they had taught him to consider the highest virtue held strong.

In the end it had all gone for nothing. He had screwed up his nerve to bring the Death Eaters through to Hogwarts, gotten Dumbledore to the top of the Astronomy Tower and at his mercy, and yet, when it came to the point, he could not do it. Professor Snape had stepped forward with the Killing Curse, and afterward dragged Draco out of the school grounds, Disapparating with him to his own dilapidated home at Spinner's End, so different from anything Draco was used to. Days later when he was able to get a glimpse of a copy of the _Daily Prophet_, Draco had been relieved to learn that none of the other students or teachers had been too seriously injured: the only Hogwarts casualty was Dumbledore.

By then Professor Snape had already warned him that he was in mortal danger; his failure would not be ignored even though Dumbledore's death had been accomplished. Snape had warned Draco to hide, and to keep moving, because if he stayed in one place too long, the Dark Mark on his arm would almost certainly draw Lord Voldemort's attention.

Draco had been astonished that Professor Snape would encourage him to evade Lord Voldemort, and his surprise doubled when his teacher further suggested he should seek Potter's assistance.

"He'll never help me," Draco had protested.

"Know him so well, do we, Mister Malfoy?" Professor Snape had said in his most sarcastic voice. "If you can convince him that it's the _honorable_ and _courageous_" – he almost spat the words – "thing to do, he just might. Potter sets great store by his honor and courage, as he sees them. Luck, I would say, but it hardly matters. In any case there's no one else to whom you can safely go. Your mother's house will be watched, naturally, along with that of every other relation or friend you're known to have, but the Dark Lord would never expect you to turn to Potter, even in desperation. So go, find him, and quickly. You can stay here for tonight, but then you must leave; remember I can't conceal your escape for long."

And Draco had gone the following morning, fleeing for his very life. After nearly four weeks of trying he had at last found Potter, and now here he was, sitting in a grubby Muggle room, trying to convince a boy who had been his enemy for six years to help save him.

Potter's persistent question – why had Draco come to _him_ for help? – was Draco's undoing. He could not possibly admit that Professor Snape had suggested it; Snape had killed Dumbledore. Instead he found himself telling a truth that he had tried to conceal, even from his own awareness, from the first time that they had met at Madam Malkin's. Potter might be a half-blood, he might be the reason why Draco's father was now imprisoned in Azkaban, but there was something remarkably appealing about him. If family loyalty and pride had not forbidden it, Draco would have sought his friendship. Potter was marked for power, anyone could see that, but he was the sort who would not begrudge sharing it with his friends – he would not advance himself by putting them down. A novel idea, to one raised by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, but Draco had a strange certainty not only that it was true, but that it was right for Potter to act so, and nothing he had ever seen him do contradicted that.

So much might have been safe to confess, that he had hidden a desire for Potter's friendship. It might even have flattered the other boy. But in his exhaustion and fear Draco let slip three words more than he intended: "I've wanted to..." and Potter pounced on them, demanding that Draco explain.

Draco's first impulse was to run, but Potter had grabbed both his own wand and Draco's. If Draco left without his wand, he doubted he would last another forty-eight hours, and besides, Potter might tell the Ministry that he had seen the fugitive. He did not think so, but he could not be sure, and dared not run the risk. Once again he had no choice, just as he had had no choice about following Lord Voldemort's orders to kill Dumbledore. Too tired to concoct a lie that might convince, he admitted what he was certain would ensure that Potter would not only refuse any help, but would probably throw Draco down the stairs to boot. If he was lucky.

"All right, Potter," Draco said. "You asked what I've wanted; I've wanted to kiss you." He paused for a look at the boy who had been the unacknowledged focus of his attention for six years, and added, "And more."

Potter repeated, "You wanted to kiss me?" He looked shocked.

"Yes, I-wanted-to-kiss-you," Draco imitated him instinctively, as he would have done with Crabbe or Goyle, then bit his lip to try to keep from saying anything to make this worse than it already was. The pain was no help. He was babbling again, pleading with Potter to give back his wand, to let him go, to forget this had ever happened.

"Draco." The sound of his name interrupted him. He could not remember that Potter had ever before called him anything but Malfoy, and that in cold or sneering tones. This time he sounded almost kind.

"...what?" he broke off the torrent of apologetic words. "What is it, Pot... Harry?" If the other boy used his first name, he would do the same.

"Shut up and kiss me," Harry said.

Draco looked at him carefully. Did he mean it? Harry still had both their wands. Was he intending to hex Draco, to take revenge for all the times Draco had insulted and tormented him and his friends? There was a strange, nervous grin on Harry's face, and he nodded. Slowly, giving Harry time to stop him if he wanted, Draco moved over to Harry's chair and knelt down next to it.

Their heads were at nearly the same height and Draco could see the lightning-bolt scar on Harry's forehead, half-hidden under unruly black hair. Green eyes first met his own, then closed as Draco leaned forward. He only intended to brush his lips against Harry's, but Harry's hand came around his neck and kept him from drawing back in confusion as Harry's tongue insinuated itself into his mouth. Draco responded in kind, and it was several moments before they broke apart.

Harry half-lifted his hand as if to wipe off his mouth, but seemed to think better of it and instead shoved his glasses back up his nose. Draco swallowed hard; he had a queer fluttering in his own stomach and was not sure what to say, but Harry spoke first.

"That what you wanted? Going to calm down now?"

Draco could only nod. He was still dizzied by the notion that he had kissed Harry Potter. Or rather, that Harry had kissed him. Voluntarily. With evidence of enjoyment.

"Right." Harry cocked his head and looked at Draco appraisingly. "I'll help you, Draco, but it'll have to be on my terms. Agreed?"

Again, Draco nodded. If Harry could help him, he was willing to accept whatever conditions were necessary, at least for now.

"First things first then. Did you take a room here?"

"No," Draco answered. "I was only asking if you were here. I don't have the money for a room." On seeing Harry's expression, he added defensively, "Not any Muggle money. I have quite a few Galleons though." Silently he thanked his younger self for having buried one year's Christmas and birthday money on the north side of the henge at Malfoy Manor; he had not dared to go to the house, but a brief trip to the far edge of the estate had seemed worth the risk.

"No problem," Harry said absently, "it's better that you should stay in my room anyway. The bed's big enough for two and you don't want to be signing your name on a register, do you?"

Which made sense, although the notion of sharing a bed with Harry made Draco uncomfortable in several ways that he wanted not to think about just now. "Yeah. Thanks," he said.

"I was going to stay for two nights," continued Harry, "and Ron and Hermione were supposed to meet me here the day after tomorrow. I'll have to let them know there's a change of plan. Oh, bugger it, no Hedwig. My owl, sorry, you wouldn't know, and I left her at the Burrow with Ginny, couldn't bring her along. How am I going to tell Ron?" He scowled in obvious consternation, rumpling his already-messy hair.

Draco was not sure how Harry would take a suggestion from him, but tentatively said, "Couldn't you use those spelled coins?"

"The DA coins? I think I have mine somewhere in my case, but Hermione was always the one who did that bit. I'm not sure I could get it to change; besides, anyone who has one of the coins could see the message."

"We could think of something that the two of them should understand, but no one else would. I might be able to get it to work, I've always had high marks in Charms," Draco said.

"It would be worth a try, I can't think of anything else except to leave a message here, and I'd rather not make them travel more than necessary. Good idea," said Harry, and smiled at Draco.

Draco's heart pounded as he smiled back.

"So tomorrow morning I'll, well, I'll do what I came here to do, then we can leave," said Harry. Draco had wondered what had brought Harry here, but he did not like to ask. "I'm not sure yet where would be best to go, but we can each think it over before tomorrow, and make a decision then. How did you get here to Godric's Hollow, anyhow?"

"Apparated," said Draco. "Broom's too easy to spot." He had not exactly had time to fetch it when he left Hogwarts, anyhow, but he thought it prudent not to remind Harry about that night. It was remarkable enough that Harry was willing to ignore the past for the moment, no need to bring it up unnecessarily.

Harry's eyebrows went up. "Apparated? I know you don't have your license yet, you were in Professor Slughorn's class with Ernie Macmillan and me when everyone else was in Hogsmeade to take their tests."

"What, do you think I wouldn't Apparate anyway?" Draco was miffed. "You would."

"So I would," Harry said. "So we will. That's settled then, we know _how_, just not _where_. Tomorrow. If we can get hold of Hermione and Ron, they might have some ideas. It's not that late yet but you look completely done in, you should get some sleep. Or – wait – have you eaten any dinner?"

"No," Draco said. Nor any meal that day, actually, and now that Harry had mentioned food he realized that he was starving; but he said, "Don't worry about it, I'll be fine until breakfast."

"If you're just on the other side of the bed with your stomach growling, you'll keep me awake," pointed out Harry. "We'd better go down to the bar and get you something to eat, and I'll tell them my cousin is staying too. Don't worry about the money," he added irritably as Draco started to fish in his pockets. "You said you don't have any Muggle money, and I do. Galleons won't be any good to me here."

Draco was startled and a little annoyed at the idea of being called Harry's cousin, but he had agreed to let Harry call the shots. Downstairs, he ate his way through a huge dinner, rather to his embarrassment as Harry sat there watching him. "Sorry," he mumbled around a mouthful of peas. "Haven't exactly had regular meals for a while."

"No, I suppose not." Harry looked thoughtful. He had ordered a coffee and was blowing on it before each sip, then licking the corners of his mouth afterward. Draco found the habit extremely distracting. He tore his eyes away and forced himself to concentrate on cutting off another bite of chicken.

Back up in Harry's room afterward, for the first time in weeks Draco did not feel the gnawing of an underlying panic; instead he wavered between mania and utter collapse.

Harry pointed at the doorway to the left of the bedside table. "The room's ensuite. Toilet's through there, and what I think may be the world's smallest shower, afraid no tub."

A shower sounded wonderful. Draco tried to recall when he had last had a chance to wash; four days, he thought it was, and that had been in some Muggle's birdbath.

The warm water calmed and relaxed him. Drying off, he looked with distaste at his dirty clothes, and came back into the room carrying them, with his damp towel wrapped around his hips.

"Oh, yeah. Give those here," Harry said.

Draco handed them over and watched as Harry bespelled them clean with a variation on a Scouring Charm. "Where did you learn that?"

"Staying at the Weasleys'," said Harry, shrugging. "If you don't have a house-elf to do your laundry, you learn to manage. Here you go." He disappeared to take his own shower, leaving Draco alone.

Pulling on his now-clean boxers, Draco considered and discarded the notion of sleeping in anything else. He hung trousers and shirt neatly over the back of the chair and looked around the room. Harry had left his toothbrush and comb sitting by the basin. Draco tapped on the door.

"Harry?"

The sound of running water stopped. "What now?"

"Sorry. Would you mind if I used your comb?"

A pause. Was Harry _laughing_ in there?

"Yeah, sure, go ahead. Use the toothbrush too," came Harry's somewhat muffled response, and the water started up again.

Draco was still yanking the comb through the tangles of his hair when Harry emerged in a gust of soap-scented steam and a towel to rummage through his case for a pair of pyjamas. Draco watched out of the corner of his eye as Harry let the towel drop and put the pyjamas on. The other boy was more muscular than he had realized, having nearly always seen him in school robes. When Harry glanced over at him Draco hastily busied himself setting down the comb and unscrewing the cap of the toothpaste.

Harry came over to comb his hair as well, but stopped with his hand hovering above the comb. Draco had reached to put the toothbrush back, and Harry caught hold of his left elbow, turning Draco's arm to expose the Dark Mark. He began to trace the outline with a fingertip, but Draco jerked away.

"Don't." He put his arm behind his back.

"Does it hurt?" Harry's voice was soft.

"What, now? No. It did when I got it." Draco shook his head. "I'd rather not talk about it if you don't mind." He turned his back and climbed into the bed, where he lay, stiff and unmoving, as Harry finished getting ready and slid under the sheets on the other side. He could hear Harry's breath slow as the other boy fell asleep; then at last he was able to do so as well.


	3. St Ceneu's Church

**3. St. Ceneu's Church**

Kissing Draco Malfoy was very different from kissing Ginny or even Ron, Harry decided. Ginny's kisses were sweet and eager; Ron's sloppily enthusiastic. The word that came to Harry's mind to describe Draco's was _knowing_, although he was not sure what he meant by that. More sensual than he would have expected, maybe. But it had already gone on longer than he had intended, so he broke away, pushing up his glasses from where they had slipped down his nose. To cover his reaction, he said, "That what you wanted? Going to calm down now?"

Draco nodded. It looked to Harry as if their kiss had confused the other boy even more than himself, despite the fact that it was Draco who had wanted it. He made use of that distraction to get Draco to agree that if he wanted Harry's help, he would follow Harry's lead. As they began to talk about ways and means, he was impressed by Draco's suggestion that he might contact Ron and Hermione by using the old DA coins; although it reminded him that Draco had used the technique to communicate with the Imperius-cursed Rosmerta, still it was better than the only alternatives Harry could think of, either to leave a message at _The Boar and Apple_ or to wait there themselves. The first was too unreliable, the second too dangerous. Harry was determined not to take Draco back to the Burrow again, which might put the Weasleys at risk.

When he realized that Draco had had no dinner, Harry insisted on getting him some, saying, "Don't worry about the money. You said you don't have any Muggle money, and I do." To cut off Draco's attempt to repay him he added, "Galleons won't be any good to me here." Besides, how much money could Draco possibly have, after being on the run from Voldemort for a month?

However much he had, Draco certainly looked as if he had not been spending it on food. At dinner he ate more than Harry had ever in his life managed at one meal, even at the Burrow with Mrs. Weasley pressing him to take fifth helpings. To keep Draco company, Harry ordered a coffee which was apparently boiled just before it was served him since he had to blow on it before each sip to make it drinkable without scorching his mouth.

He was glad when the meal was over and Draco went to take a shower. Politeness might have kept him from mentioning it, but he had been unable to avoid noticing a certain pungency that reminded him of nothing so much as the Weasley twins' socks left unwashed after two weeks of Quidditch practice. Besides, it gave him a chance to think undisturbed for a few minutes. If he was going to help Draco, to redeem Dumbledore's promise, he could not do it without some assistance. To begin with, it might well take some time before they could find a way to keep Draco safe from Voldemort, and until then he would feel obliged to stay with the other boy, not leave him alone again.

Harry suspected that Draco was uncomfortable without someone else around; he had hardly ever seen him at Hogwarts when not flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, except when he was carrying out prefect duties and then it was Pansy Parkinson instead. Could he, Harry, stand to be around Draco for as long as it took? Tonight's kiss aside – and the very mixed feelings it provoked – there was not much they had in common and plenty to argue about, not a fun way to spend a couple of days, much less weeks or months. Perhaps Hermione or Ron would be willing to travel with them? Harry shook his head at the thought. He was sure that neither would be enthusiastic about the idea, would likely be positively unwilling, given the way Draco had always acted towards them; though admittedly Hermione had given Draco the benefit of the doubt as to his actions several times over the past year. In any case it was not very probable that the Weasleys or the Grangers would allow their children to jaunt around the country for weeks in Harry and Draco's company, not with Voldemort after them. No, it would be up to Harry. He just hoped that the other two Gryffindors would be able to help him come up with some way to hide Draco effectively.

He had gotten no further in his thoughts when Draco came out from the bath. His usually fair skin was flushed pink from the water's heat, and wisps of pale hair curled damply above his ears. Not that Harry was looking. But he could not help noticing how bony Draco was, and how vulnerable that made him appear. Draco was carrying his clothes; evidently he had no notion of how to cope with such mundane matters as soiled laundry. Rather than make him put the dirty clothes back on, Harry offered to clean them, though he could not resist a dig by saying, "If you don't have a house-elf to do your laundry, you learn to manage," before going to shower himself.

A knock on the door interrupted some pleasant thoughts about Ginny, who would have been an unexpected guest much preferable to Draco. "Harry?"

Harry turned down the water so he could hear properly. "What now?"

"Sorry," Draco actually sounded apologetic. "Would you mind if I used your comb?"

His comb? Draco had convinced Harry to risk his own life to help him, someone with whom he had shared a mutual hatred for six years, and the git was worried about borrowing a comb uninvited? He snorted to himself. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. "Yeah, sure, go ahead. Use the toothbrush too," he called. If Draco had anything contagious, it was too late anyhow.

He had forgotten to bring his pyjamas in with him. It would be far too obvious if he made a big thing about not changing in front of Draco, who at least was polite enough not to watch, although his busy fumbling about at the basin suggested that he was not unaware of what Harry was doing.

As Harry went over to carry out the useless exercise of combing his hair, his attention was arrested by the Dark Mark on Draco's left arm, livid against the pale skin. Harry took Draco's elbow to look more closely, but Draco jerked out of his hands and turned away as Harry touched him.

"Don't."

Thinking of how his scar sometimes ached from the link with Voldemort, Harry asked sympathetically, "Does it hurt?"

"What, now? No," Draco said. "It did when I got it." He moved away, towards the bed. "I'd rather not talk about it if you don't mind."

Harry shrugged to himself. It might be important, but he would not press the matter now. Hermione would doubtless know something about how the Dark Mark might function, possibly even more than Draco himself did. He finished brushing his teeth and went to bed. He could tell that Draco was still awake. If he had been sharing the room with Ron, they would have talked for awhile, maybe fooled around, but Harry could not quite see doing any of that with Draco. He thumped his pillow into a comfortable shape and quickly fell asleep.

His dreams were all of someone whispering urgently, someone who at one moment seemed to be Sirius, the next Dumbledore. He could never hear what the person was saying, but he knew it was important and somehow connected with the Dark Mark that kept appearing in odd places like packets of Bertie Botts' Every Flavor Beans and on the windows of Flourish & Blotts as Harry wandered through a Diagon Alley where no building was in the place it should have been.

When he woke, for a moment he was not sure where he was; an unfamiliar warm body pressed close to his back, and an arm was draped over his waist. Then he saw the pair of wands on the bedside table and realized that both body and arm belonged to Draco Malfoy. Harry wondered if he could disentangle himself without waking Draco. A kiss was one thing. That could be explained as lust, understandable if a bit peculiar, but an embrace meant affection. Harry was not keen on that idea, and he assumed Draco would feel as embarrassed as he was by the hug.

He slid carefully out from under Draco's arm and stood up. Draco gave a little shiver and curled up more tightly, but did not seem to have wakened. Harry looked at the time and saw that it was after eight. Too late for him to go out without Draco and get back in time for breakfast, unfortunately; he remembered that they stopped serving it at nine. He put on his clothes, glad to see through the window that today the sky was mostly blue. Then he shook Draco's bare shoulder.

"You'd better wake up if you want any breakfast."

Draco's grey eyes, suspiciously free of sleepiness, looked up into Harry's own. "All right," he said, and pushed the duvet off.

Down at breakfast, they both ate with good appetite. Harry traded his grilled mushrooms for Draco's tomato, asking casually, "Sleep all right?"

"Fine, thanks." Draco cut off a piece of fried bread and pushed it around in his egg yolk. "You?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Pass the marmalade, will you?"

Draco handed the pot over and they ate in silence for a few minutes before Draco spoke again. "Harry?"

"What?" Harry was chasing an elusive forkful of baked beans.

"Were you here before? I kept checking at the Weasleys' every few days, hid behind their hedge to try to spot you but you were never there. D'you know they have the worst gnome infestation I've ever seen? Little buggers kept throwing things at me and I didn't dare Stupefy them for fear someone would notice. Finally I managed to overhear one of the Weasleys talking about a wedding and figured you would come for that, but I must have misheard the day, because I was three days too late." Draco's face registered annoyance. "I didn't know whether you'd be back again and I couldn't keep waiting forever, that's why I took the risk in the end and asked Weasley. He just blurted out 'Godric's Hollow' and wouldn't say anything else. I was worried he'd give me away or warn you, so I left as fast as I could. It took me a while to figure out how to get here even so; not exactly a metropolis, is it? So what's the big attraction?"

Harry hardly knew where to begin to answer. He said shortly, "I just came yesterday myself. Before I went to the Burrow for Bill Weasley's wedding I was at my aunt and uncle's house." He made a face. "They're the only family I have. You think yours isn't so great? Try the Dursleys sometime, compared to them I bet your parents are ideal. They're the worst kind of Muggles.

"As for why I'm here..." Harry's mouth stretched in a bitter not-grin. "Are you finished eating? Come with me and you'll see."

He had only Apparated as far as Carlisle the day before, then taken a local bus the rest of the way to Godric's Hollow, so he had seen a bit of the village and knew what direction to go. Draco followed half a step behind as Harry led the way to St. Ceneu's church and the graveyard on its northern side.

It took him nearly fifteen minutes to find the joint grave, methodically working his way through the scattered headstones.

_James Potter. Lily Potter._ To Harry's surprise, _Harry Potter_. The dates below. So short a time. Harry reached out to touch the cold stone, sinking down cross-legged next to it. He was dimly aware that Draco had laid a hand on his shoulder before retreating to wait under the yew trees by the gate.

He sat there, head bowed, ignoring the damp that seeped into his jeans from the wet grass. He had thought that coming here would bring him a sense of connection to his parents greater than just seeing pictures of them in the album Hagrid had once given him, but all he felt was desolate. They had gone before he ever knew them at all. Maybe if he found where they had lived, though? He knew he would not recognize the house, but it would be more a part of their lives than this dismal place. Who might be able to tell him where it had been, after almost sixteen years?

Standing up, he brushed at the mud on his backside before walking over to Draco.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Draco sounded worried. Harry wondered why.

"I need to find the vicar," he said.

"Over there, I should think," said Draco, pointing to a tiny one-story cottage that huddled next to the church.

Harry headed for it, Draco again trailing him, silent. He twirled the old-fashioned doorbell handle and waited.

The door eased open and a wrinkled, white-haired man who bore an astonishing resemblance to Professor Flitwick squinted up at Harry. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"My... my aunt and uncle used to live here. I was hoping you might be able to tell me what house they lived in?" asked Harry.

"Oh? Who were they? Come in, come in," the man said, gesturing to them. "Alan Blackburn, I've been vicar here for fifty-three years and if they lived here I knew them. This your brother?" He did not wait for a reply. "I'll get us a cup of tea, sit down."

Harry perched on the threadbare cushions of an ancient sofa, Draco next to him. Blackburn reappeared carrying a tray with a teapot and three mismatched cups. "Here, boys. Now, what were your aunt and uncle's names?"

"Potter," said Harry. "Lily and James Potter."

"Dear me," Blackburn's face crumpled still more with dismay. "I'm sorry, lads, but the Potters' house burned down on the night they died. There's nothing left of it now; the council had the ruins cleared away as an eyesore. Sad thing, that, the two of them and their little boy as well. They never found the baby's body, though. It must have been completely burnt, but we put his name on the marker with his parents' all the same. I'm so sorry I can't help you."

Harry's throat was tight and he could only nod, sipping at his tea.

"Thank you for telling us," said Draco unexpectedly. Harry was annoyed at his presumption. It was Harry's parents who were dead; they were no concern of Draco's.

"No trouble at all. A nice couple, they were. She was from away, I never heard where, but his grandparents lived here and that whole family going back generations, I believe. You could look in the old parish registers if you like; I've never gotten round to sending them to the local record office. I think they've forgotten they're still here," Blackburn said.

"Perhaps another time," Harry managed to reply. "I'm afraid we have to leave Godric's Hollow today."

The vicar looked disappointed, but he accepted their now-empty cups and waved from the front step, calling after them, "Do come back any time and visit."

They walked slowly back to _The Boar and Apple_, Harry kicking at stray stones as they went. If Draco had spoken, he thought he might have hit him, but the other boy stayed quiet. When they got there, he took a deep breath and faced Draco.

"Ready to try charming that coin, then?"

Draco opened his mouth, shut it again, and finally said, "Yeah. Whatever you say, Harry."


	4. On the Green

**4. On the Green**

A month's habit of sleeping lightly told on him: Draco woke early. Harry was still asleep, turned on his side and facing the other way. Draco could hear the steady sound of his breathing and feel the warmth he radiated. Despite the covers, Draco shivered. Would Harry even notice if he moved closer? He edged over, pressing his cheek against Harry's shoulder. Daringly he let his arm fall across Harry's waist. It was firm under his hand, reassuring. He suppressed a sigh. Really, there was no reason to think that because Harry had promised to help him find a place to hide, that he was already safe. It was just that, well, Harry had always managed to come out on top, hadn't he? A fact which had irritated Draco no end in the past, but now seemed as comforting as the solid body next to him.

He tried not to dwell on thoughts of that body and what he would like to do with it. Everyone at Hogwarts had known that Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were going out, you could hardly turn a corner without seeing them together all spring. So Harry had offered to kiss him because... because why? Draco wondered. He hoped not for pity, that would be unbearable. Or out of curiosity, nearly as bad. But it could not be for the same reason he, Draco, had wanted that kiss, could it? Unless Harry was as good as concealing his feelings as Draco, and frankly there was no sign of that. Harry was as transparent as a ghost about some things, he could never have hidden such emotions, and this surreptitious embrace was probably the nearest Draco would ever get to what he wanted.

Letting himself enjoy the illicit closeness, he dozed a little, but woke again when he felt Harry stir. He pretended to be still asleep as Harry crept out of bed, peering through the lashes of his lowered lids to watch Harry get dressed. Draco knew that he should feel guilty for it, but he did not; Harry would never know, and who could say if Draco would ever get another chance?

Harry came back over and prodded his shoulder. "You'd better wake up if you want any breakfast."

Draco pushed away the duvet and got up, yawning. He took his time in putting on his clothes, even though he was starving again despite his enormous dinner. He rather hoped that Harry might watch, but Harry only sat there, tapping his wand impatiently.

At breakfast he asked about one of the things he had been curious about last night: what Harry was doing in this Muggle village. He could not think of anything that would draw Harry's attention here. The guarded answer Harry gave made Draco realize that he had touched a nerve, but he kept his mouth shut and followed Harry through the streets of Godric's Hollow.

When Harry passed through the gate of the graveyard at St. Ceneau's church, Draco guessed what he was there for, though it was not until Harry stopped in front of one stone marker that the reality really hit Draco. There were the names: _James Potter. Lily Potter. Harry Potter._ The Muggles must have thought Harry was dead too, even without a body to prove it. And Lord Voldemort was responsible. An image of Harry as a baby flashed into Draco's mind, with a mop of dark hair and an unscarred face. He felt a sudden loathing, stronger even than on the night of Dumbledore's death, for the Dark Mark on his arm and for himself for once having been proud to have it there. What had the Potters done to deserve death, leaving their son orphaned? Nothing. Only tried to prevent other wizards and witches from being killed. Lily Potter had been a Mudblood, but that was no crime in itself, only marrying a pure-blood wizard was. But if she had not, Harry would not be here... Draco found this line of thought very disturbing. Was he justifying what James Potter, blood traitor, had done?

Harry had knelt down on the wet grass that covered the grave, oblivious of Draco's presence. Awkwardly, Draco touched his shoulder, still seeing that picture of Harry as an infant in his mind's eye. It was clear that Harry wanted to be alone. Draco went back to wait by the gate, where yew trees shaded the muddy path.

Eventually Harry returned. His face was pale and he stumbled as he walked, almost as if he were blind. "Are you all right?" Draco asked. This was not the Harry Potter he had watched for years, confident, determined, disregarding ordinary rules. "Harry?"

Harry did not seem to hear him. "I need to find the vicar," he said.

The vicar? Confused, Draco pointed at the cottage behind the church. "Over there, I should think."

He was right, as it proved, and they were asked in and given cups of stewed-tasting tea. Draco was startled when Blackburn, the vicar, assumed that he and Harry were brothers – they looked nothing alike, after all – and even more astonished when Harry did not protest the assumption. Harry asked about his parents, pretending that they were his aunt and uncle, and the vicar rattled on about the Potters and the fire that had destroyed their house the night they and their son died. He paused, waiting for Harry to respond.

Since Harry was plainly too distraught to be polite, Draco stepped in, thanking the man for his information. After a while, Harry pulled himself together enough to make an excuse and they left, Harry leading the way back to _The Boar and Apple_. Draco could tell that Harry was extremely upset that his parents' house was destroyed and decided to leave him be until he was ready to talk about it.

At the pub, though, rather than referring to what he had just seen and learned, Harry said abruptly, "Ready to try charming that coin, then?"

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but found he could not say anything. How could Harry just... go on? Set aside his family? It took another try before he managed to answer, "Yeah. Whatever you say, Harry." He hoped that he had been right and that he would be able to duplicate Granger's spell, or at least close enough for it to work. He hated to look incompetent, ever, and it would be particularly mortifying to fail now.

"I'll go fetch it," Harry said. "Wait here. Or – no – over there." He pointed to a bench on the village green, next to the inevitable Muggle war memorial. There was an ancient stone cross there too, its arms broken short and the whole thing so worn that it looked rather like one of the henge stones at Draco's home. He patted it almost fondly as he passed.

After a few moments Harry came back with the fake Galleon. He had Draco's wand tucked underneath his shirt too, along with his own, but said, "Can you do it without? We don't want to attract attention." Draco had noticed a few Muggles going into the chemist's, greengrocer's, and other shops. He could not fathom why Harry did not want to go up to the room, if he wanted to be discreet, but nodded anyway.

"I think so. I'll try. What do you want it to say?"

Harry frowned. "I'm not sure. Hermione only ever changed the serial number, to show when the next DA meeting would be. But if you just put today's date on it, and someone besides her or Ron saw it, they'd be confused and do who knows what. And Ron and Hermione might not guess what the change meant, either. It ought to be something only one of those two would know meant to come find me here today."

"They already know where you are, right? It's just a question of getting them to come a day early," Draco said. "So if I can make it say 'RW come at once HP,' for instance, that should work."

"Well," said Harry doubtfully, "anyone else in the DA would understand the message too, if they looked."

"But they wouldn't know _where_," Draco pointed out. "Or be likely to talk about it if it's clearly a private message."

"Yeah, only Ron and Hermione know where I am. And Ginny," said Harry, "she was there when we were talking about it. I suppose that's good enough, then. Go ahead."

Draco concentrated on the coin, focusing hard on the false serial number and willing it to change to the words they had chosen. The Protean Charm was difficult to begin with; Draco had never before tried it as a nonverbal spell. He gave a crow of triumph when the sentence appeared. "Got it!"

Harry reached over and took the Galleon from Draco's fingers. "That looks good; I hope that it worked properly and shows on all the other coins too. They're supposed to get warm, to alert people, but we have to hope that either Ron or Hermione is still carrying theirs or they won't even notice. It'll be a stroke of luck really if they see it today. The best chance we have, but if nothing has happened by, say, four o'clock, I think we'll have to move on and risk leaving some kind of message at the pub, and hope they think to ask there." Harry stretched out his legs in front of him. "They could show up any minute or not at all. So we wait." He tilted his head back and closed his eyes against the sun.

Waiting was something that Draco had learned to endure over the past four weeks; boredom was preferable to fear, if not by all that much. He did not fancy waiting in silence, though, not now that there was someone to talk with.

"Um, Harry?"

Harry turned his head slightly towards Draco, listening if not enthusiastic.

"Should I maybe not be around when Weasley and Granger arrive? If they do?" This was a question that had been bothering Draco since last night, when Harry had first mentioned that the two other Gryffindors were meeting him. He had nearly killed Weasley with that poisoned mead, and had deliberately insulted Granger on more than one occasion. With a pang he remembered Dumbledore chiding him for using the word "Mudblood." It must have been important to the old wizard, to get sidetracked like that when his life was at stake. Harry might have agreed to help Draco, for what reasons Draco was still not sure, but that did not mean his friends would be so willing.

"No," said Harry, and Draco felt a rush of relief that cut off abruptly when Harry continued, "You should stay. And apologize, I think."

Draco's first reaction was to protest. A Malfoy apologize to those two? Unheard of. But... he had promised to accept what Harry asked him to do, in return for Harry's help. It was not just his own life at stake, after all, his family was at risk on his account. And helping Draco would put Harry in danger, and maybe Granger and Weasley too. Pride would have to be sacrificed for survival. He looked at Harry.

"I should apologize to you, too, Harry. I'm sorry for how I've treated you. Really I am." Draco knew that the unaccustomed words sounded stiff and begrudging, and only hoped that Harry did not take them as sarcastic. He wished that there were no need for apologies, and not just because he disliked making them; but he meant what he said.

Harry looked annoyed and embarrassed. "All right. I wasn't always exactly decent either. I used _Sectumsempra_ on you without knowing what it could do."

"I tried _Crucio_," said Draco quietly. And he had known what the Cruciatus Curse did.

They were both silent then for a while. Draco wondered if Harry had some idea about where Draco might hide safely. He had already been thinking about it for weeks without any solution presenting itself. Maybe Harry was planning to rely on Granger coming up with something; galling though it had always been, Draco had to admit that she was the cleverest witch in their year, probably the best who had been at Hogwarts the whole time he had attended it. If there was an answer at all, she was his best chance at discovering it. Draco sighed. He would much rather have been obligated to Harry alone.

A nudge in his ribs roused him from his preoccupied thoughts. "Lunch?" said Harry. "Thought I'd go get us some sandwiches and crisps. Anything in particular you fancy?"

Answering, "You," although honest, seemed a bad idea. "Prawn and mayonnaise," said Draco. "Or cheese and pickle."

"Okay. Hang on, I'll be back in five minutes," Harry said, and ambled off. Draco watched as he disappeared inside one of the shops.

Not two minutes later, Draco heard voices behind him. Familiar voices. Familiar _arguing_ voices.

"Of course he wants us to meet him here, Hermione, what else could it have meant?"

"But he's never learned the Protean Charm properly. How did he get it to work? You know that Charms was never Harry's best subject, he just squeaked into that E for his O.W.L.s. It could be a trap."

Of course Weasley and Granger would have to turn up now, when Draco was alone, without his wand which was still in Harry's possession. They would recognize him at any moment; best for him to speak first. He turned around. "Look who's here at last."

Granger was only a few feet away, Weasley just beyond her. Draco took a certain satisfaction in the dumbfounded looks on their faces.

"Malfoy." Granger's wand was in her hand before Draco could blink. "What have you done with Harry?" Weasley was a bit slower on the uptake, but within a moment more he was looming over Draco.

"Where is he, you treacherous git? What have you done to him?"

"Not a thing, Weasley, not a thing. He's off getting us some lunch." Draco pointed across the way. "See?"

Sure enough, Harry was emerging from the shop, carrier bag in hand. He spotted them immediately and dashed over.

"Ron! Hermione! Thanks for coming so quickly."

Granger raised her eyebrows. "You're welcome, Harry. What is all... this?" She shrugged the shoulder nearest to Draco.

"Ah. Um. He's on the run from Voldemort," said Harry. A chill ran through Draco at hearing the name so casually pronounced, and he saw that Weasley looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

"Harry, can we talk to you for a minute?" said Granger.

Harry set the bag down on the bench. "Go ahead," he told Draco. "There's a bottle of water for each of us too." He walked off with the other two Gryffindors.

Draco rummaged around and found a prawn sandwich and some salt and vinegar crisps. He could see Weasley's face, looking flustered, and Granger waving her hands earnestly. Harry's back was to Draco, and they were all too far away for him to hear anything. He opened the sandwich packet and took a bite. Not bad, if heavier on the mayonnaise than he would prefer.

One and a half sandwiches and a bag of crisps later, the three came back. "We'll go get something too," said Weasley, taking Granger's hand and marching off with her. Harry looked at Draco.

"And the verdict is...?" Draco said in a drawl intended to hide his apprehension.

"They'll help," said Harry.

"Guess that means I should be prepared to make my apologies." Draco watched Harry lick crumbs from his fingers.

"Guess so."

When, laden with sandwiches, Granger and Weasley reappeared, he did, managing rather more gracefully than he had done with Harry, in fact, despite meaning it less.

Granger seemed to credit what Draco said, whereas Weasley looked as if he were going to laugh with disbelief. Of course, it was Weasley who had nearly died.

"You don't have to love him, Ron, just accept his apology," Harry interrupted.

Weasley gave Harry a funny look. "Yeah, all right. Whatever, Malfoy. Just don't think this means I trust you any more than I did an hour ago," he said, and took a savage bite of his sandwich, dropping a piece of cucumber on his trousers.

"Now that that's over with – Draco, explain the situation," said Harry.

Draco had supposed that Harry had done so already. "I'm running from... You-Know-Who. Because I wouldn't kill Dumbledore, I failed the task he set me, so he wants to kill me now."

"So why not just go somewhere secret and hide?" interrupted Weasley

Draco shot him a withering look. "If it were that simple, do you think I'd be here? He can find me, if he tries hard enough, through this." He showed them his left arm with its livid Mark. "I don't dare stay anywhere more than one or two days."

Harry spoke then, much to Draco's relief. "When Dumbledore and Draco were talking, up on the Astronomy Tower that night, Dumbledore promised he would hide Draco and his family, if he didn't go through with it."

So that was why Harry had agreed to help, Draco realized. One of the reasons at any rate. For Dumbledore.

"Oh, Harry," said Granger. "So now you're going to do it instead, is that it?" She shook her head. "I don't know... we should talk to someone. Professor McGonagall, or Ron's dad, or someone."

"No," Draco said. "They wouldn't believe me. They'd want to have me held somewhere for a trial, for attempted murder, and I'd be dead before it could happen, I'm sure of that. Please, don't tell anyone else." He heard himself appealing to Granger with a sense of shock, but it was far less undignified than his words to Harry the night before.

Granger was nodding, and Weasley too. "Okay, we'll wait for now," she said. "But if we can't come up with anything soon, we'll have to tell someone. I'll see what I can find out about the Dark Mark, to start with."

"Thanks, Hermione," said Harry, and Draco echoed, "Thanks."

"Where are you going then, since you can't stay here?" asked Weasley.

"I don't know," Harry said. "Draco, did you have any ideas?"

"Afraid not," Draco admitted. "I've already been almost every place I could think of, all of my friends' and relatives' houses, or actually places near where they live. I couldn't risk actually going _to_ any of them, You-Know-Who would have expected that."

"We can't go to the Burrow, Draco already has been there several times trying to find me," Harry said. "It would be too big a risk."

"You _could_ come to _my_ parents' house," offered Granger. Draco stared at her, and she shrugged. "Well, You-Know-Who would never imagine you would go there."

Stay with Muggles? In their house? It was not as if he had not slept in various Muggle gardens and toolsheds, but somehow this was different.

"Great idea," Harry said with enthusiasm. "It'll give us another day to plan."

"Wouldn't your parents mind?" said Draco cautiously.

"They'll be surprised, but I think they'll agree. I'll tell them that you're just passing through overnight, which is true," said Granger. "We've only the one spare room, though." She looked worried.

"He shared my room last night. It'll be okay," Harry said. Granger looked skeptical, although she said nothing.

"What can I do?" asked Weasley.

"You can help me do the research on the Dark Mark," Granger answered him firmly. Weasley looked mutinous, but kept quiet. Draco found that interesting and speculated that the two of them might be going out. If he had been in the Slytherin common room, he might have made a sneering remark to Zabini about a pure-blood truckling to a Mudblood. Here, sitting next to them and asking for their help, he squirmed a little bit at the thought.

"I'll go home and talk to my parents. Ron, can you tell yours that I'm going to spend tonight at home, but I'll be back at the Burrow tomorrow? Harry, you and Draco follow me in about an hour," Granger ordered. "No, wait. How will you get there?"

"Apparate," said Harry.

She looked worried. "But you're not licensed yet, either of you!"

"Hermione," Harry said patiently, "with the kind of trouble Draco's in, do you think that's really worth fussing about?"

"Oh, all right. I'll see you in an hour. You know where it is, don't you?" She hardly waited for Harry's nod. "Come on, Ron." The two of them stood up, looked around casually to make sure no Muggle was in sight, and Disapparated.

Draco let out a breath he had not known he was holding. Listening to the friendly banter between Harry and his friends, he had kept expecting them to vilify him, to make it plain that they were only helping him out of obligation and with extreme reluctance, and they had not. Once his apology had been accepted, they had treated what he said with as much respect and consideration as they showed each other. How different from most of the Slytherins. If Crabbe, for instance, had been in as much trouble as Draco was now, Zabini would perhaps have given him a hand, but jeering at Crabbe the whole time for being such a fool.

"I'd better get my things out of the room before we go," said Harry.

"Do you want any help?" Draco offered.

Harry hesitated. Draco almost wanted to take the suggestion back, but before he could speak, Harry said, "Yeah, okay. Let's go."


	5. Leaving Godric's Hollow

**5. Leaving Godric's Hollow**

The last thing that Harry wanted to do was to talk about his parents' deaths with Draco Malfoy. Getting Draco to try the Protean Charm to contact Ron and Hermione was the first idea he had to distract the other boy from the topic; it was something they would have to do sooner or later in any case. It might have made more sense to have him try it inside, in privacy, but Harry did not want to be alone with him just now. The village green was not exactly crowded, so Harry told Draco to wait there while he brought the fake Galleon.

After some discussion, they settled on a message that Harry felt ought to be clear to his friends. Draco succeeded in casting the charm with little trouble, and Harry prepared to wait, since he was not sure whether Ron still carried his DA Galleon. If not, he might not notice the message at all. Harry was surprised when Draco proposed that he should be discreetly absent if and when Ron and Hermione turned up; avoiding confrontation had never been Draco's style. On the other hand, Draco had never before been in such a position, where his name and House would be liabilities rather than assets. Harry suggested that an apology from Draco to the two other Gryffindors might make them more willing to help, and the Slytherin seemed to accept that idea.

Draco's immediate apology to _him_ startled Harry, though. He had not meant to imply that was necessary, and was chagrined that Draco seemed to have heard it as an unsubtle hint. It was not as if Harry had always treated Draco with much courtesy either. He said as much, reminding Draco of the time he had used the _Sectumsempra_ curse.

"I tried _Crucio_," Draco replied, cutting off further discussion. Which was true, of course, but Harry had managed to block that curse. Trying to injure someone was one thing, succeeding another, but in Harry's opinion it was worse still to have used a Dark curse without having bothered to learn what it did or how to counteract it.

He thought about that for a while. If he _had_ known the effects, would he still have used it? He was not sure what he would have done in the heat of the moment. To use whatever you could against your enemy was only common sense. Or was it? Harry wondered if Dumbledore had ever learned that Harry had injured Draco with _Sectumsempra_. He must have. Surely Snape would not have missed the chance to tell Dumbledore of Harry's transgression. Why hadn't Dumbledore said something? It was not the kind of thing he would lightly overlook; Dumbledore hated the Dark Arts. Harry felt shame twist like a knife in his guts when he remembered trying _Crucio_ against Snape. Not that Snape deserved any consideration after killing Dumbledore, but it would have been an insult to the Headmaster's memory to have used the Dark Arts for revenge in his name. Much as Harry disliked it, honesty made him reluctantly acknowledge that he was glad Snape had prevented him from using an Unforgivable Curse.

Enough. He did not want to think about that night any more, and it must be lunchtime, anyhow. Since Draco had no Muggle money, Harry offered to get their lunch and asked him what kind of sandwiches he liked.

"Prawn and mayonnaise, or cheese and pickle," said Draco.

Harry preferred beef and salad himself. He was pleased to find that the shop had a reasonable selection, and grabbed a couple of packets of crisps and bottles of water as well. Shoving the change back in his pocket, he slung the carrier bag over his wrist and went back outside to see that Draco was no longer alone at the bench.

"Ron! Hermione! Harry sprinted toward them. "Thanks for coming so quickly." It looked as though there had already been some unfriendly words between the other three; he was glad when Hermione suggested a little private conversation without Draco.

"He really is on the run from Voldemort, like I said," Harry assured her and Ron as soon as they were a discreet distance away. "I'll have him tell you so you can hear the details for yourself, but I believe him."

"Why?" asked Hermione. "This is _Malfoy_ you're talking about. You spent all last year trying to persuade us that he was a Death Eater."

Beside her, Ron nodded vigorously. "He's a lying little ferret, always was, Harry."

"He is a Death Eater, I was right about that, but he didn't kill Dumbledore," said Harry quietly. "He could have, easily, but he didn't."

"I don't understand you, Harry. So he didn't kill Dumbledore, he still let in all those Death Eaters to Hogwarts, and you say he really is one himself! How can you even think of helping him? Or asking us to do the same?" said Ron.

Hermione looked thoughtful. "I can see why he might need to hide from You-Know-Who, but I don't understand why he would come to you."

"I think it might be easiest to let Draco explain it himself," said Harry.

"_Draco?_" said Ron. "You're calling him Draco now?"

"Get off it, Ron," Harry said. "Does that really matter?"

"It's just weird to hear you say it, that's all," Ron said, scowling. "I'll help, Harry, but for your sake, not his. And don't expect me to call him anything but Malfoy."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said gratefully.

"I will too," said Hermione. "But Harry, I want to know, how did you get the Galleon to change? You were never able to manage the Protean Charm in Professor Flitwick's class."

"I didn't do it. Draco did," Harry told her. "Actually, he's the one who suggested it as a way to reach you, since Hedwig is at the Burrow with Ginny. He's never been an idiot, just a bastard."

"Now that I can agree with," muttered Ron.

They walked back to the bench where Draco sat calmly eating his sandwich.

"We'll go get something too," Ron said, tugging Hermione away with him. Harry watched them go, hand in hand.

"And the verdict is...? Draco asked in an irritatingly assured tone.

"They'll help," Harry said, and unwrapped a sandwich.

Once Hermione and Ron came back Draco apologized for his previous behavior with considerable grace, his words indicating greater sincerity than Harry might have expected. Hermione accepted the apology with as much poise at it was given, Ron rather more grudgingly.

In discussing ways and means to keep Draco safe for the time being, it was Hermione who had the best plans. To no one's surprise, she volunteered to learn whatever she could about the Dark Mark. Whether Ron was particularly keen on helping her as she insisted he do, Harry doubted. She also suggested that her parents' house would be a safe place for Draco and Harry to stay for at least one night, giving them all a little time to think of other possibilities.

When Hermione hesitated over the fact that the Grangers had only one spare room, which Draco and Harry would have to share, Harry told her, "He shared my room last night. It'll be okay." Hermione shot him a funny look that he could not quite interpret, so he gave her as reassuring a smile as he could manage. It really had not been that bad to share a bed with Draco, after all, though waking up in his arms had been... unexpected. Harry told himself firmly that he had _not_ woken in Draco's arms, not like that. It was probably just a habit Draco had of holding on to something when he slept. A bizarre picture of Draco snuggled up with a large stuffed bear popped into Harry's mind, and he nearly missed Hermione asking how they would get to her parents' house.

"Apparate," he said, and then had to point out that under the circumstances, the fact that they were both underage and neither he nor Draco had licenses was hardly important.

Hermione rolled her eyes, told him to meet her there in an hour, and Disapparated with Ron, leaving Harry again alone with Draco, who offered to help Harry get his things from the room before they left.

He only had the one small case, not difficult to pack or carry, and he was still a bit worried that Draco might start asking questions he did not want to discuss. On the other hand, he was going to be stuck with Draco for who knew how long. Might as well seize the dragon by the horns. "Yeah, okay. Let's go," Harry said, picking up the rubbish from their lunch.

Draco held out the carrier bag wordlessly, waiting for Harry to put in the wrappers and empty bottles before tossing it into the bin nearby.

"I would never have figured you for as being concerned for the environment," said Harry.

"Only a cretin would leave rubbish around," Draco said loftily. "It reflects poorly on one's upbringing."

True, Draco always had been one of the tidiest students in Potions class, surpassing even Hermione. His concoctions might not always turn out perfectly, but Draco never seemed to leave the room with bits of rat spleen or droplets of Bubotuber pus decorating his robes, as frequently happened to Harry, Ron, and indeed everyone else in the class. Come to think of it, Harry had never seen Draco with his hair so much as mussed, Quidditch matches excepted. It occurred to him that Draco had doubtless been wearing the same Muggle clothes for days, perhaps even weeks, and that he probably loathed having to do so. Not that Harry, who had worn Dudley's hand-me-downs for years, had too much sympathy.

Harry had never learned the spell Tonks had once used to help him pack his trunk quickly, and he was sure that Draco, accustomed to having a house-elf to deal with such matters, would not know it either. Not that it mattered. It was not exactly a chore to toss his few things into the case, even if he did take a little more effort than usual to fold his clothes instead of jamming them in just anyhow. Draco brought over Harry's comb and toothbrush.

"Thanks," said Harry, taking the things from Draco's hands.

"Sure," Draco said. He sat on the edge of the bed, then lay back and stared at the ceiling as Harry finished packing and shut the case.

"We still have a little while," Harry said. "I don't want to get there before Hermione has had time to ask her parents." He flopped down on the other side of the bed from Draco.

"Will it be all right, do you think?" asked Draco. He actually sounded nervous. "I mean, they're Muggles. Aren't they going to be upset by having two strange wizards show up?"

"Strange? Speak for yourself." Harry laughed. "They've met me before, they know I'm Hermione's friend. And you'll be just another classmate as far as they're concerned. They may be Muggles but they're still proud of Hermione's abilities as a witch. We won't seem odd to them at all, don't worry."

"If you say so," Draco said, his posture still tense.

Harry supposed that after despising and belittling Muggles all your life, it would be strange to go and stay with some, but Draco seemed... he could not be _afraid_ of the idea, could he? "I do say so. Remember, I'm helping you, I even persuaded Hermione and Ron to help, so you'd better trust me."

Draco lifted one hand as if in a sort of vertical shrug, saying, "I do trust you, Harry." As his hand dropped back to the bed, it brushed against Harry's leg for an instant.

A jolt went through Harry, but he told himself that Draco surely meant nothing by it; it was accidental, Ron might have done the same. There was no reason for him to react this way, not to Draco who had always been his rival, his enemy, and still would be had he not pleaded for Harry's help. Which Harry was giving only for Dumbledore's sake, wasn't he? Not because he was flattered despite himself by Draco's confession last night that he had always wanted to be friends with Harry – Harry was pretty sure that it was Draco's father who had discouraged that – and not just friends, but more. Whatever Harry felt about that idea, he had to admit that it was a compliment, and the kiss they had shared had been more exciting than any experiment with Ron. He was not prepared to compare Draco to Ginny.

On the other side of the bed, Draco had remained silent, apparently waiting for Harry to speak.

"I think we'd better check out and pretend that we're going to catch the bus back to Carlisle," Harry said. "Walk to the bus shelter and Apparate from there. If there's anyone else waiting we can just go past and find somewhere out of sight."

"All right," said Draco, and stood up.

He reached out as if to pick up the case, but Harry said roughly, "It's mine, I'll carry it."

A flicker crossed Draco's face. He opened the door and walked out first, leaving Harry to follow, but waited outside for him to lead the way to the bus shelter.

Because he was leaving in midafternoon, Harry had to pay for a second night they would not use, but that could not be helped. No Muggles were waiting for the bus, so Harry was able to explain to Draco where the Grangers' house was. To make sure that Draco reached the right place, though, Harry decided it would be best to Apparate together, holding hands. Draco's skin was cool and dry against his own. He let go as soon as they were standing in Hermione's front yard and hastily stepped off the grass and onto the walk.

Hermione must have been looking for them through the window, because she opened the door before Harry had reached the step.

"It's all right," she said, smiling. "My mum and dad are still at work but I rang them up and asked, they're happy to have you to stay overnight. Come in, Harry, the room's upstairs, you can put down your case. Malfoy, come on." Draco was still standing a few paces back, staring at the neatly trimmed lawn and the bright yellow door.

The Grangers' house was far more cheerful and lived-in looking than the Dursleys', thought Harry as Hermione led them up the stairs and across the landing. The guest room overlooked a back yard full of bright flowers; Harry recognized pansies, delphiniums, and a few others from having been forced for years to help Aunt Petunia weed her garden, but here they grew luxuriantly unrestrained and mixed in with others of whose names he had not the faintest idea.

Seeing Harry looking out the window, Hermione came over to open it. Draco stepped to Harry's other side.

"Smell," said Hermione, and breathed in deeply. "Mum grows loads of lavender, it's near the far wall but you can smell it all the way from here."

Harry sniffed the air. It was rather like the flowery fragrance he associated with Ginny, but there were other scents too. "What's that bitter smell?" he asked.

"Ivy, down there," Draco said, leaning onto the sill and pointing at the walls. As he moved Harry realized that a bit of what he smelled was Draco, a scent that he could only think of as spicy. Strange, when Draco had used the same soap as he himself had last night; it had not smelled that way to Harry then.

At Draco's words Hermione looked at him with surprise, and the Slytherin shrugged. "There's a lot of ivy growing 'round my house."

"Right," said Hermione, plunking herself down on the bed. "We need to be planning. My parents will be home at half five or so, so we have," she peered at the clock, "nearly two hours to think."

"Two hours to think about what?" said Harry. "You can't possibly have any books here that would tell you about the Dark Mark. The Hogwarts library might, but you'll have to convince the Headmistress to let you in to the school and get Madam Pince's permission to use the Restricted Section."

"Not think about the Dark Mark, Harry," said Hermione patiently. "Think about where Draco could go next. You needn't go with him, you know, not if we set up some sort of way to communicate; you could go back to the Burrow, for instance."

Draco looked wide-eyed at Harry, who could guess how he felt. "I think he'd be safer if I'm there too, just in case Voldemort or one of the Death Eaters does find him," Harry said. "My other plans can wait for a few weeks, they weren't very specific yet."

"If you want. You're more used to Muggle places anyway," Hermione shrugged.

"Muggle places?" Draco asked.

"Yes. You'll fit right in, summer holidays and all," said Hermione.

"Fit right in where?" said Harry suspiciously.

"Youth hostels," Hermione said. "You can move from place to place every night and no one you meet will think that odd at all; you'll be just a couple of friends having a cheap holiday. My mum and dad used to do it, years ago, and they asked if that's what you two were doing, which gave me the idea. I'm sure that there are guides to all sorts of places to stay; we can go out and buy one, and the two of you can choose a few places to go to begin with and arrange when and where Ron or I will meet you next."

As Hermione explained, Harry listened with growing enthusiasm. It did sound a good plan. They could blend in with all the other students on holiday.

"But what about this?" Draco indicated his left arm, marred by the Dark Mark.

"Wear a windcheater, or long-sleeved t-shirts," said Harry.

"I might be able to get my dad to lend you some," Hermione said. "If anyone spots the Mark, they would just think it was a tattoo, but better not to let it show if you can avoid it." She giggled. "Wear an earring as well, that will finish your disguise. If you have your ear pierced?"

Draco pushed back the loose fair hair over his right ear, revealing a small silver stud that Harry had never noticed before.

"Something bigger than that, more daring. I know. I have a pair shaped like skulls, they were a joke gift but they'd be perfect for this," said Hermione.

Harry ignored Draco's doubtful expression. "The whole thing's a brilliant idea, Hermione. Do we have time to go look for one of those hostel guides now?"

"Oh, yes, the bookshop is only..." Hermione had begun, when Draco interrupted.

"One thing first. It's my skin you're trying to save, and I owe you for that. Granger, can you have this changed into Muggle money so that Harry needn't pay for everything?" He pulled a jingling sack from his pocket. "It isn't that much, thirty Galleons or so, but it's all I have."

"I can exchange it, but not right away," Hermione said. "In three or four days perhaps. I'll probably have to ask Bill Weasley to arrange it."

"Leave your money with Hermione, Draco, I can manage easily until she has a chance," Harry told him. "Let's go buy that book."

Draco hesitated for a moment. Then he handed the sack to Hermione. "Lead the way, Granger," he said.


	6. At the Grangers'

**6. At the Grangers'**

It was humiliating enough to have had to come begging Harry for help, worse still to have inadvertently admitted his more-than-friendly feelings, but positively mortifying to have Harry treat him like an incompetent half the time. Though, to be fair, Harry _had_ trusted him to cast the Protean Charm and complimented him on his success with it. So why did he now seem reluctant to let Draco help with such a simple thing as packing? At least he had not told Draco to wait outside this time. And he was gathering up the wrappers from their sandwiches, an action Draco approved; he held open the carrier bag to let Harry drop them into it. When Harry seemed surprised by that, Draco said, "Only a cretin would leave rubbish around. It reflects poorly on one's upbringing." Not to mention that untidiness could reveal more than one intended about oneself: always dangerous. An empty crisp packet might not seem likely to give away vital information, but one never knew.

He followed Harry back upstairs. With a certain amount of trepidation he risked another dismissal by bringing Harry's toiletries for him to pack, then lay down on the bed to watch him finish. They did not need to leave for the Grangers' quite yet, to Draco's relief. Not that he was worried about behaving improperly before Muggles. Why would he care what they thought? But he did care what Harry thought, so when Harry reminded him that coming for help meant that he ought to show some trust in Harry's judgment, Draco replied, "I do trust you, Harry," with a gesture meant to underline the sincerity of his words.

As he let his hand fall, he brushed Harry's leg, not quite unintentionally. Why waste the chance? He was unprepared for his own reaction, though, which was as great as if the bottle of water he had drunk outside had instead been a delayed-action love potion. Luckily Harry seemed to be distracted by his own thoughts, not paying attention to Draco's sudden arousal. Draco was well aware that this was not the right time to even think about trying to seduce Harry. If there ever would be a right time. Harry mentioned the Weasley girl rather too often for Draco to think that he would be easily persuaded, last night's kiss notwithstanding.

Since Harry had accepted his help packing, Draco reached to pick up the case when they left, but was dismissed with a curt, "It's mine, I'll carry it."

Why did Harry have to be so infuriatingly unpredictable? One time he was fine with Draco doing something, the next not. It made no sense. It was not as if Draco were implying that Harry was too weak to carry his own case; it was just one of the few ways he could even begin to repay the other boy for his help. Annoyed, Draco shouldered open the door to the room and stalked down the stairs. If he had known how to reach the Grangers' house, he might seriously have considered Apparating there alone, out of sheer pique. He was glad he had not, though, when Harry decided that as an extra precaution to keep from getting separated should something go wrong, they should hold hands as they went. This time, Draco had enough warning to keep his response in check. Harry's hand was warm and strong and he only reluctantly released it when they arrived.

He had never gone into a Muggle's home before. A few pubs and shops, yes, and he had spent a number of uncomfortable nights in assorted Muggle back gardens over the past weeks, but not inside one of their houses, and he experienced an almost instinctive revulsion at the thought. But he had no choice. Granger was urging him inside, where Harry had already gone. Unwillingly Draco followed.

In the Grangers' guest room Harry was standing by the window, looking out, and Draco moved towards him, needing to be close to something familiar amid the strangeness. He breathed in the fragrance of the outside air when Granger opened the window, effortlessly identifying the bitter scent as ivy when Harry asked, for Malfoy Manor had been covered with the creeping vines since before he could remember. He would have liked to stay there, so close to Harry that he could smell the tang of sweat on his skin even over the aroma of the sun-warmed flowers.

But Harry was turning away as Granger began talking of the plans they needed to make. Her suggestion that Draco could travel alone took him aback, and he felt a rush of gratitude when, before he could say a word in protest, Harry declared that he would stay with Draco in case Voldemort found him. Thankfulness dissolved again into apprehension at the idea of traveling around and staying at these Muggle _hostels_ – the word was too similar to _hostile_ for Draco's comfort, and that was all he really expected Muggles to be whether or not they identified him as a wizard. He worried, too, about the Mark on his arm being seen and recognized if he was out in public, even if it was only the Muggle public. There could always be a Squib among them, reporting to the Dark Lord. The two Gryffindors seemed unconcerned: typical of their house, Draco thought, never considering the odds properly, willing to rush into danger unprepared. He could not say no to Granger's plan. They would think him a coward. All he could do was insist on contributing what he could to this mad venture, so as Granger and Harry were discussing going to a book shop, Draco interrupted.

"One thing first." He felt in his pocket for the Galleons he had salvaged and pulled out a small, clinking sack. "It's my skin you're trying to save, and I owe you for that. Granger," he could not quite bring himself to call her Hermione even if he was growing used to hearing the name from Harry's lips, "can you have this changed into Muggle money so that Harry needn't pay for everything? It isn't that much, thirty Galleons or so, but it's all I have."

Granger nodded, although she warned him that it would take several days to arrange. Harry said, "Leave your money with Hermione, Draco, I can manage easily until she has a chance. Let's go buy that book."

Draco found that he was oddly reluctant to hand his money over to Granger, though it was his own idea. Steeling himself, he gave the sack to her, saying, "Lead the way."

The other two walked side by side, and once again he found himself following Harry. The book shop was only four streets away, but it felt longer, hearing them chat together when he had nothing to add to the conversation. Granger seemed to be describing some goings-on at the Weasleys' house. That crumbling pile of bricks, only a Mudblood could sound so enthusiastic about it just because a wizarding family lived there. Well, Harry did too. But that was what Harry was like, wasn't it, not judging his friends? He had not criticized Draco's actions last night, either. Draco rested his eyes on the back of Harry's neck, imagining what it would be like to bite him gently just _there_, and then soothe the skin with lips and tongue afterward. He was roused from his distraction only by their arrival at the shop.

Granger, of course, knew exactly where to find what they wanted, and she and Harry huddled in front of the shelves, comparing the merits of the several books. It was clear that Draco's help was not needed. He picked up another travel guide at random and leafed through it, then stopped, staring at a photograph of Muggle tourists on the Spanish coast, in amazingly varied degrees of dress and undress.

"Harry." He nudged the other boy's shoulder.

"What?" Both Harry and Hermione turned.

Draco held out the book. "Look at this picture. Can you believe it? I don't know what the publisher was thinking."

"It seems fine to me. There's nothing offensive in that," Granger was saying when Harry spoke over her.

"Oh – the pictures aren't supposed to move, Draco, Muggle pictures don't. Not in books." Harry smiled at him, but Draco felt chagrined nonetheless. Would he make mistakes like this all the time, out in the Muggle world? He had known that about their pictures, if he had only remembered it before speaking, and now Harry must think him an idiot. If he could forget something so simple, how would he avoid giving himself away, or looking an utter fool at the least?

"Right, of course, I'd forgotten," Draco mumbled, sure that the other two would believe he was lying, trying to save face. Hastily he shoved the book back on the shelf. "Have you found a book that will do for us?"

"This one looks good. It includes a lot of out-of-the-way places, and has information on the local attractions too. We'll be Apparating rather than taking trains or buses, and that means a lot of free hours," Harry said. "Knowing what's nearby might be useful."

"You'll want a good map too," said Granger in a practical voice, and squatted next to the bottom shelf, running her finger along it, looking for something suitable. She pulled out a brightly-colored folded map and handed it to Harry. "Here."

"I'll pay for them and then we should get back, I suppose," Harry said. "No, hang on, we need to get a few things for Draco first."

"We do?" Draco was unsure what Harry had in mind.

"Yeah, like a toothbrush and maybe some underwear and socks, don't you think?"

"Oh. Sure," Draco said. It felt odd to know that Harry was thinking of him and underwear together, but he could definitely use a spare pair or two. Cleaning spells were all right in their way; still, nothing compared to a real wash, and that meant something to put on in the meantime.

"There's a Marks and Spencer on the next street. You two go there for the clothes and I'll buy the toothbrush. We can meet back at my house, you know the way now. Do you need anything else?" Granger asked. Draco was not sure if she was talking to him or Harry, but Harry replied before he could.

"I don't think so, but thanks, Hermione."

Harry paid for the book and map, then he and Draco headed together in the direction Granger had pointed out.

"Ever gone to a Muggle shop for clothes before?" inquired Harry conversationally as they walked along.

"No, of course not," said Draco, injecting his voice with as much sarcasm as possible. "Come _on_, where do you think I got these?" He indicated the clothes he was wearing, a quite ordinary Muggle-fashion grey knit shirt and pair of jeans.

"From someone's washing line?" Harry said. "They don't really look Malfoy style."

"Well, actually, yes, these exact ones are, er, purloined. I didn't have a lot of choice, I had no money but I had been wearing my school robes and those were no good," Draco admitted. "But I _do_ own some clothes that aren't wizarding robes, believe it or not, and I _have_ been in Muggle shops before this."

"Good, because Marks and Spencer is nothing like Madam Malkin's," said Harry. "No one to tuck and pin for you."

"That's perfectly all right with me," Draco said. "I don't particularly enjoy being felt up by middle-aged witches." Or, he did not add, _young_ witches either. Young wizards were quite another matter.

"No fear," said Harry, who managed to find what Draco needed in about ten minutes, consulting him in an undertone as to the proper size. Shortly thereafter they were headed back to the Grangers' house, Draco now the proud owner of three new pairs of socks, a like amount of underwear, and a green t-shirt that Harry had insisted he get as well, saying that he could wear it to sleep in.

By the time Draco and Harry got back to the house, Granger's parents had returned. Draco followed Harry's lead, shaking Mr. Granger's hand with no visible reluctance when he was introduced. He determined that the wisest thing was to keep his mouth shut as much as possible and let Harry do the talking.

In the event, even Harry had little chance to speak. Mr. and Mrs. Granger's welcome was followed by an effusion of reminiscences of their own youth, when they had traveled all across Britain, it would seem, after meeting in dental school and before getting married. Draco noticed that Granger – and he had better at least try to think of her as Hermione, he decided, since he should probably address her so in front of her parents – looked singularly uninterested in her mother's rhapsodic description of the Isle of Wight. She had heard it dozens of times, Draco supposed. Eventually she broke in on her father's advice to Harry about where _not_ to go in Cornwall and hinted that dinner might be a good plan.

Mrs. Granger looked flustered. "We hadn't expected you home tonight, dear, since you were staying with the Weasleys, and of course not your friends. Your father and I are supposed to meet the Meads in half an hour for dinner. Would you mind if we just gave you some money to go fetch in a takeaway? There isn't much in the fridge."

"No, that's all right," said Hermione. "Before I forget, though; Dad, could Draco borrow a shirt or two of yours? I was thinking of the ones you wear on holiday, you won't want those for at least a month. Due to some unfortunate circumstances he can't reach his parents at the moment to have them send anything on."

Draco was impressed despite himself at Hermione's carefully phrased request. She had not lied, but she had managed to convey an impression that was far from accurate – almost worthy of a Slytherin, really.

"Borrow whatever you need, Draco, and Harry, you too," Mr. Granger said. "You know where everything is, Hermione."

"Thank you, sir," said Draco and Harry, a breath apart.

"No trouble, don't mention it. Happy to help you young folks, traveling around; I envy you, I really do. You'll have a splendid time on your holiday, I've no doubt." Mr. Granger counted out some notes from his wallet, handing them to his daughter. "There you are. We'll be home by ten-thirty, I expect, so have a good evening, you three."

At Hermione's suggestion they brought in some quite good curry from the nearest Indian takeaway for their meal. As they ate, Harry began paging through the book he had bought, reading out bits that he thought interesting to Draco and Hermione.

"This one's in what used to be a stables... close by this other one is a bridge where someone tried to kill herself by jumping, but her crinoline acted as a parachute... it says there are eleven nightclubs within three streets of this one, we don't need that..."

Draco listened with only moderate interest, chewing on a vegetable samosa. As long as they kept moving and kept away from any Death Eaters – and as long as he could travel with Harry – he did not really care where they went. But when Harry mentioned Salisbury, he spoke up. "Not there, it's too close to my home."

Harry nodded. "Fair enough. Where do you want to go first, then?"

"Er..." Draco had no idea. He looked over Harry's shoulder and turned back a few pages. "How about there?" He stabbed a finger at random.

_There_, it turned out, was Bristol. Not the most glamorous city, certainly nowhere that anyone with sense would expect Draco Malfoy to go, and that was all to the good. There was a reasonable-looking hostel listed on that page, and Draco shrugged. "Seems fine to me. Harry, you choose for the next night."

"All right. Hermione, shall we plan to meet the evening following? You can pick the third one, then," Harry said. "I choose... somewhere out of the way, I think, how about here? Skirfare Bridge Barn, it's pretty remote. Self-catering but there's a place half a mile away where we could buy a meal. They do say you need your own sleeping bag, though."

"We can lend you those," Hermione reminded them. "You'll want rucksacks, too, if you're planning to look like the other students traveling. Didn't you borrow that case from Mr. Weasley? I can take it back to him for you."

Draco's enthusiasm for looking like an ordinary Muggle teenager was not great, but the disguise was necessary, so he joined Harry in approval of the notion, which she waved away in some embarrassment.

"The third night, how about Bath?" Hermione suggested.

"Bath?" Harry pulled a face, and Draco silently agreed with him. Old-fashioned and dull. Now, if they could go into the old Roman baths, not just to see them but to bathe, that would be different. He could definitely fancy bathing with Harry.

"Yes, Bath. I've always wanted to see it and this would be a good chance, Ron and I can look around a bit before meeting you," said Hermione firmly. "There are supposed to be some lovely old Georgian buildings."

Poor Ron. For the first time in his life, Draco felt sympathy for a Weasley, and wondered if Hermione was always this bossy.

Harry flipped through the book. "There's a hostel in Bath that looks all right. It has some larger dormitories but also five two-person rooms; maybe we can get one of those."

"I'll ring them up tomorrow morning and see, it's a bit late tonight," said Hermione. "Which were the other two places again?" Harry had dog-eared the pages, making Hermione cluck disapprovingly as she set the book down by the telephone to remind herself. "Why don't I get those rucksacks and you can put your gear in them now, have that done with."

After she had disappeared to find sleeping bags and rucksacks to lend them, Draco said in an undertone to Harry, "Is she always so... managing?"

Harry snorted with laughter. "That's a tactful way to put it. Yeah, she is, but she's a good organizer and you get used to her, honestly."

Draco raised an eyebrow at that, and Harry elbowed him in the ribs. "Girls," they said together.

When Hermione came back, Draco and Harry dutifully packed up what they could, and Harry gave Hermione the empty case to return to the Weasleys the next time she went. That much accomplished, Harry suggested that they might see what was on the television. Draco found the programs peculiar, but more interesting than he would have expected of Muggle entertainment. He was rather taken by an archaeological group's excavation of Roman ruins, in fact, although he thought to himself that it would be far easier to manage with spells than with shovels and brushes. By the time Hermione's parents returned, he was tired by the effort of understanding a Muggle sports program, and was more than ready to say goodnight.

The next morning after breakfast, Hermione telephoned their three chosen hostels with great success, triumphantly reporting that by great good luck each had a two-bedded room available on the night they would stay. Draco was thankful for that. Sharing a bed for a second night with Harry had not been restful; he had been much too aware of the other boy to sleep well. On the other hand, he was pleased that they would not have to share a room with Muggle strangers.

"You'll each need to buy a YHA card, it sounds like," Hermione told them, "but they're only about fifteen pounds and you can get them at the hostel."

"What are you going to do today?" Harry asked her. "Once you've got rid of us, that is."

"I'll owl the Headmistress to ask her about using the Hogwarts library. I'll have to think of some reason to give her for researching the Dark Mark." Hermione frowned. "How about you two? Somehow I don't see you touring around Bristol all day."

"We could find someplace private and practice hexes and jinxes, maybe," said Harry thoughtfully.

"Revive the second-year Dueling Club?" Draco suppressed a smile. "As I recall I had you rather at a disadvantage then."

"It won't happen again, believe me," said Harry with a crooked grin and a glint in his green eyes.


	7. Bishops Foxley

**7. Bishops Foxley**

The pavement was too narrow for all three of them to walk abreast on their way to the book shop, and Draco had fallen behind. The back of Harry's neck prickled as he tried to pay attention to what Hermione was telling him, a funny story about Mrs. Weasley and some chickens.

Once they had reached the shop, Hermione insisted on examining at all the possible books on hostels before settling on one to buy. Harry considered that excessive, and Draco seemed to think so too, since he had pulled out a travel guide to Spain instead. After a few minutes, though, he complained about the pictures being no good. It took Harry a moment to realize that Draco was objecting not to the quality or content, but to the fact that they were motionless. Of course. Ron had had the same reaction to Dean's posters of the West Ham football team in their first year, just as Harry had been equally bewildered at seeing pictures that _did_ move for the first time.

Harry gave Draco a sympathetic grin and assured him, "The pictures aren't supposed to move. Muggle pictures don't, not in books."

"Right, of course, I'd forgotten," said Draco hastily, putting the book back. Harry wondered if Draco really had known it. Not that it mattered, but he would not put it past Draco to try to make himself look as good as possible – though who could he be trying to impress?

Having finally chosen and bought a guide and a map, Harry suggested that they ought to pick up a few things for Draco as well. Hermione volunteered to buy a toothbrush, leaving the two boys to acquire underwear and socks. Harry had rarely had new clothes when he was living with the Dursleys, but Aunt Petunia had often dragged him around the shops with Dudley nonetheless, to help carry parcels. He navigated through Marks and Spencer and quickly brought them to the men's clothes. Draco chose some socks while Harry found underwear – he had to check with Draco as to size – and then on their way to the till, Harry spotted a rack of t-shirts that would do for Draco to sleep in, or wear during the day if he liked. Over Draco's half-hearted protests Harry picked out a green one and added it to the pile.

Despite his assurances to Draco earlier in the day that Hermione's parents would see him as just another young school acquaintance of their daughter, privately Harry worried about it. He doubted that Hermione would have told her parents about her various altercations with the Slytherin over the years, but they might remember Draco from seeing him in Flourish & Blotts five years before, when Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley had gotten into a fight. Draco had grown to look very much like his father these days, and even if the Grangers did not recognize his name when he was introduced, they might see the resemblance and recall him unfavorably. Not that Harry would blame them if they did, but it would be awkward at best.

His concern was needless. The Grangers greeted Draco with as much courtesy as himself, and promptly began to regale them both with stories about their own youthful days hosteling. They stopped only when Hermione's comment that it was dinner time reminded them of a prior engagement with some friends, but Mr. Granger left money with Hermione to get a takeaway.

Draco was surprisingly knowledgeable about the menu, asking the man behind the counter if they made their own paneer and looking pleased at the affirmative response. He spent a long time deciding on his choices. Harry let Hermione order for the two of them. He quite liked Indian food but had never eaten enough of it to care what dishes he ate. Onion bhaji, chicken tikka, aloo gobi, it was all the same to Harry.

Back at the Grangers', Harry tried to avoid dripping yogurt sauce on the hostel guide as he flipped through it. They decided that Harry and Draco would go to Bristol the next night, up to a remote place in Yorkshire the second, and then south again to Bath after that. Hermione was the one who chose Bath, since she and Ron would be coming to meet the other two that afternoon to report on any progress they had made in investigating the Dark Mark. Harry could tell that Draco was as unenthusiastic about Bath as he was, but it _would_ only be for one night, and it was surely an improbable place for any Death Eater to be looking for Draco.

Hermione offered to lend them sleeping bags and rucksacks that belonged to her parents, to complete their disguise as Muggle students. While she was off rummaging in a cupboard to find them, Draco looked at Harry quizzically and asked, "Is she always so... managing?"

Laughing, Harry said, "That's a tactful way to put it. Yeah, she is. But she's a good organizer and you get used to her, honestly."

Draco looked skeptical and Harry nudged him. "Girls," they both said simultaneously, and in that moment Harry felt almost fond of Draco, whose long-suffering tones matched his own.

Once they had packed up the rucksacks – Harry gave Hermione the case he had borrowed from Mr. Weasley, to return for him – the three of them looked at each other, at a loss. There was nothing more to be done about Draco's situation tonight, and they did not have so much in common that Harry wanted to spend the next two or three hours trying to make conversation with the other two together. Draco had been punctiliously polite to the Grangers, including Hermione, all evening. He had even been addressing her by her first name, which Harry knew must be an effort. But if they all three started talking about wizardly things, who knew what sparks might fly? To head off possible trouble, he suggested that they might simply relax and watch the television for a while. He rather expected Draco to be disdainful of the idea, but the other boy seemed to enjoy most of the programs, if somewhat bewildered by a report on a cricket match.

The Grangers' guest bed, when they went back up to it, was no smaller than the one he had shared with Draco the previous night, Harry was certain. Draco wore his new t-shirt to sleep in, and Harry his pyjamas. Yet somehow he was more aware of Draco's body a few inches away than he would have expected. Harry lifted his head and turned to glance over his shoulder at Draco, who was curled up around a pillow. Draco's eyes were closed, but his breathing was light and irregular, and Harry was almost certain he was still awake. Harry let his head fall back down and shifted to a more comfortable position.

"Harry."

The whisper was so soft he was not sure he had not imagined it, but he responded, "Yeah?" in equally quiet tones.

"Good night," Draco whispered, and his hand slid across the sheet to pat Harry's back.

Harry reached across awkwardly and touched Draco's hand for a moment. "Good night, Draco," he said softly, before letting go and wriggling deeper under the duvet.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger went off early to the dental practice at which they worked, while Hermione, Harry, and Draco were still finishing breakfast. Draco had put on one of the shirts lent him by Mr. Granger, who was equally tall but rather broader through the chest and shoulders. As a consequence the fabric flapped loosely, making Draco appear painfully thin. Mrs. Granger urged second helpings on both him and Harry before she left.

Hermione, meanwhile, rang up the three hostels they had chosen and checked to see if there were beds available. She came off the phone very pleased with herself that she had been able to secure two-bedded rooms for Harry and Draco every night. Harry thought that was an excellent plan. For all Draco's civil behavior to the Grangers, Harry was not entirely convinced that Draco's dislike of Muggles generally would not manifest if he had to share a large dormitory with them.

When Harry asked what Hermione planned to do that day, she said that she would send an owl to the Headmistress to ask permission to use the Hogwarts library. Since she had passed the Apparition test, she could Apparate to Hogsmeade and walk from there to the school. All she had to do was think of some reason to give Professor McGonagall as to why she needed to use the Restricted Section, and knowing Hermione, Harry was sure she would manage with no trouble.

As for himself and Draco, Harry thought that a bit of magical practice would not be a bad way to occupy a few hours.

"Revive the second-year Dueling Club?" Draco said, almost eagerly. "As I recall I had you rather at a disadvantage then."

Harry refrained from mentioning their more recent clashes, which had not all gone Draco's way, and said only, "It won't happen again, believe me."

They Apparated from the Grangers' back garden, with Hermione at the last minute remembering to say that she and Ron would meet Harry and Draco outside the hostel in Bath at five o'clock _sharp_, and they had better be there. Draco knew of a place in Cornwall that, he assured Harry, would be perfect for practicing any hexes and jinxes they wished without being disturbed by Muggles.

It was a good place. A hollow in the ground in a large field, empty except for a few sheep grazing near a distant fence. A small wood, its shade inviting in the summer sun, formed the northern boundary of the hollow. They piled their rucksacks under a nearby ash and took out their wands.

"I heard that your wand is brother to," Draco paused before finishing, "to You-Know-Who's. Is it true?"

"Yes," said Harry shortly, wondering how Draco had learned that. From his father, probably. "They each have a feather from Fawkes. Professor Dumbledore's phoenix." He did not want to talk about the duel with Voldemort in which that had been most painfully proven. Instead he asked, "What's yours made of? It looks more rigid than most wands."

"Boxwood with dragon heartstring. From Ollivander's, of course." Draco ran his finger along the length of it, almost a caress. "Shall we get started? What did you have in mind?"

Harry took a breath. "I don't think we should actually duel, just practice. We'd better stick to things at least one of us knows the countercurse to, as well; no Madam Pomfrey here to fix us up, we'll have to rely on each other."

Draco looked at Harry with a curious expression on his face. "You trust me to do that?"

"Yeah," said Harry, "I do."

Draco nodded. "Okay, then."

They practiced for the rest of the morning, beginning with simple spells like the Leg-Locker Curse, which Harry recalled Draco having cast on Neville back in their first year at Hogwarts. After that they moved on to more difficult ones, and by early afternoon they had gone through well over a dozen hexes and jinxes, finishing with the Bat-Bogey Hex. Ginny Weasley had always been especially fond of that one, Harry told Draco before he cast it.

"I remember she used it on me in Professor Umbridge's office," said Draco ruefully after he had beaten the bats away from his face and used _Evanesco_ to get rid of them altogether. "It's quite effective."

"It is," agreed Harry. "Time for lunch." He unzipped his rucksack and fished out the parcel of sandwiches Hermione had given them, handing two to Draco and keeping the other two.

"I have the rest of it," said Draco, and passed Harry a somewhat battered apple. "Sorry, I forgot these were in there and they got a bit bashed about. There's a bottle of water too, but we'll have to share it."

They sat in the shade at the edge of the wood to eat. Harry stretched out on his back when he had finished and watched the clouds drifting overhead.

"How'd you know about this place?" he asked Draco lazily.

"I had a great-aunt who lived not far away, at Bishops Foxley. Actually I think she was a fourth cousin twice removed or something like that, but we called her Aunt Tisiphone. She's been dead for years now. We used to visit her every few months and I would come out here to tease the fairies. There was a whole colony of them back among these trees, I expect it's still there. It was deadly dull to listen to all that grown-up talk, and I haven't any cousins anywhere near my age, none that my parents would visit, that is."

"You're lucky," said Harry. "You could've had a cousin like mine, he's horrible. My aunt and uncle give him whatever he wants, so he's spoiled rotten and a bully as well." Belatedly, he realized that his description of Dudley was an equally good fit for Draco. Not wanting to leave it at that, he added, "But he's a fat greedy pig, so I could usually outrun him."

"He's a Muggle, isn't he?" Draco asked.

"Oh yes," Harry said, "he and his parents both."

"It must have been strange, growing up with Muggles."

"Not really," said Harry thoughtfully. "I didn't know I was a wizard, you see. The Dursleys tried to pretend that anything strange didn't really happen, and they told me my parents had died in a car crash because they didn't want to tell me the truth. I only found out when I got the letter from Hogwarts."

"Ah," said Draco. He was putting the remnants of their lunch back into his rucksack and did not seem to know what else he wanted to say.

"Want to practice for a while longer before we go? I'd like to work on deflecting hexes, too," Harry said.

"All right," Draco agreed. "Er, Harry?"

"What?"

"You can conjure a Patronus, right? Could we practice that... not today, but sometime? I've never quite been able to manage it." Draco was still fussing with his rucksack and not looking at Harry.

"Sure," said Harry, "we can do it tomorrow if you like. There's bound to be someplace private enough up near where we're going." The Patronus Charm was one that most of the DA had had some trouble with, so he was not too surprised that Draco had not been successful. He wondered what kind of animal the Slytherin's Patronus would be.

Draco looked relieved. "Thanks."

Harry did need the practice at deflection, and so did Draco. Each of them managed to get past the other's guard more than once that afternoon, leaving Harry horn-tongued and Draco sporting a fine crop of hair on his palms, among other interesting if temporary results.

All jinxes removed, it was time to go on to Bristol. Harry suggested, and Draco agreed, that it would be most sensible to Apparate onto the grounds of the university, which should be relatively uncrowded at this time of year. They could catch a bus from there and arrive at the hostel in proper Muggle fashion.

As Hermione had told them, they had to buy YHA cards from the young woman at the desk, as well as paying that night's tariff. Harry's funds were noticeably depleted afterward, and he decided that he would have to ask Ron or Hermione to visit Gringotts for him soon. The room they were given was small and spare, the farthest from the shared toilets, but as promised it had only two beds and they would not have to share it with any strangers. The hostel offered dinner between six and seven. The cabbage-y aroma drifting through the building dissuaded them from taking up that option, however, and instead they went out into the city evening, wandering through the unfamiliar streets. Eventually Harry bought them kebabs and they found a bench where they could sit and eat.

"How did you manage on your own, without any Muggle money?" Harry asked Draco through a mouthful of minced lamb.

Draco swallowed his naan, grimacing. "It wasn't easy. Mostly I Accio'd things from shops, but I had to be careful so that no one would see."

"Stealing," Harry said.

"Yes, stealing," said Draco defiantly. "I didn't have a lot of choice, did I? And they were only..."

"Only Muggles," Harry finished the sentence for him.

Draco said nothing.

"You won't have to do that any more now,"said Harry. "Hermione will get Bill to change your money, you can pay for what you need then. And don't worry about what I've spent, either. I have plenty in Gringotts, it'll just be a matter of getting it, and she can arrange that too, or Ron will."

"You needn't tell me it's wrong to steal even from Muggles, Harry," said Draco. The light of the street lamp beyond him put the side of his face that Harry could see into shadow, and haloed his head with the gleam off his fair hair. He sounded older, somehow, and Harry saw that his fists were clenched against his thighs.

Harry said, gently, "I wasn't trying to accuse you. Really I was only curious how you had managed; better than I might have, I think."

They had both finished eating by now, and stood up to walk back towards the hostel. A few streets away from it they passed a nightclub with several young people milling around its doors and loud synthesizer music pounding inside. An Eighties-retro night, apparently. On an impulse Harry said, "Want to go in and get a drink?" It was probably meant to be for over-eighteens only, but worth a try.

Draco looked startled, but nodded agreement. Harry paid the three pounds apiece and they threaded their way through assorted clumps of club-goers to reach the bar. There Harry succeeded in obtaining two pints of cider, which sounded fairly safe.

It was so refreshing after their long walk that he quickly ordered another pint for each of them to drink as they watched the dancers. Halfway through the second pint, he decided that for someone used to nothing stronger than butterbeer, it was deceptively strong. By then no fewer than half a dozen girls had shimmied past, casting inviting looks and clearly hoping to be asked to dance by either Harry or Draco. Whatever he had been thinking he might find here, though, none of these girls was it, and he could tell that he was beginning to blink owlishly rather than wink flirtatiously at each fresh appearance. Next to him Draco, who had already finished both his pints, had relaxed alarmingly, leaning against Harry.

This was no good. Harry put down his glass and grabbed Draco's shoulder to shout above the music into his ear, "I think we should leave."

"Leave?"

"Yes, leave, go back and go to bed," said Harry.

"To bed," said Draco. "Okay."

He did not move, however, and Harry had to pry the glass from his fingers and lead him outside. Once out in the cooler night air, Draco seemed to revive somewhat, and walked steadily enough the rest of the way back to the hostel. In their room Harry made quick work of changing for bed while Draco sprawled out with his eyes closed. Harry shook his shoulder before heading off to the toilet. "Draco. Better get undressed for bed, you'll regret it if you fall asleep in all your clothes and your shoes."

When he came back, he saw thankfully that Draco had listened: the clothes he had been wearing were folded neatly in a pile and Harry could see a green-shirted shoulder poking out from under the edge of the sheet. Draco turned over as Harry began brushing his teeth at the basin. His eyes were glittering and his lips parted as if to say something, but he did not speak, only watched Harry moving about the room.

Harry wondered if he was all right. Two pints of scrumpy did not seem enough to have put Draco in this state, even if he were no more used to drinking than Harry was. He went over and knelt next to Draco's bed.

"You okay?" he asked, leaning over. He could smell apples still on Draco's breath.

Draco looked – frightened? thought Harry – but he nodded.

"Sure?" Harry persisted, and suddenly Draco's arm was around Harry's neck, pulling him down.

Unthinkingly Harry resisted, and Draco stopped as quickly as he had begun, letting his hand fall and muttering thickly, "Sorry, I'm so sorry, Harry."

But Harry did not move. He was not exactly unwilling, but if he kissed Draco again he was determined it would be on his own terms. Draco had turned his head away and closed his eyes. Harry ran a fingertip along the line of Draco's jaw and those eyes flew open again just as Harry bent to press his lips against Draco's.

He crawled up onto the narrow bed, pinning Draco's body under his own. He could feel the other boy trembling. "Nothing more than this," Harry pulled away long enough to say, and Draco nodded in frantic agreement, though he was hard against Harry's thigh, already reaching for Harry again. No more. Not yet. It had not been even three days since Harry would have called Draco Malfoy one of the people he loathed most in the world. He was not going to do anything but this for now, no matter how tempting Draco's kisses might be.


	8. In Bristol

**8. In Bristol**

Draco knew of a place that would be ideal for practicing hexes with Harry, a field and wood in Cornwall where he had hunted for fairies as a child. Harry was skilled at such spells, but Draco was not a bad match, managing to catch Harry unawares with a Jelly-Legs Jinx halfway through the morning. They had agreed to cast only spells that at least one of them knew a counterspell for. Draco was torn between pleasure that Harry would trust him so far, and a hint of scorn that he would make himself so vulnerable. Trust could lead to disastrous consequences if one judged wrongly.

When they stopped for lunch, Draco told Harry a little bit about his great-aunt Tisiphone who had lived nearby in Bishops Foxley. In return Harry talked about his Muggle family, especially about his cousin who sounded like the worst sort of Muggle, thinking himself superior with no justification at all. Draco found a horrifying fascination in the idea that Harry had grown up completely unaware of his wizarding heritage. Even if his mother had been a Mudblood, the Potter family was no upstart, and it really was a crime that Harry had been raised in such ignorance. Perhaps that had been part of the reason why Harry had been in Godric's Hollow, Draco thought.

Harry suggested that they practice deflecting and defensive charms in the afternoon as a change of pace. Draco agreed, but asked if they could work on _Expecto Patronum_ sometime too, admitting hesitantly that he had never yet been fully successful in casting it.

To Draco's relief Harry did not seem to think his inability unusual or shameful, saying matter-of-factly, "Sure, we can do it tomorrow if you like. There's bound to be someplace private enough up near where we're going."

Draco was able to get past Harry's Shield Charms several times that afternoon, first with a simple Horn Tongue Charm, then with an _Engorgio_ that made Harry's feet bigger than those of a legendary Hobbit, and finally with a Stinging Hex, which rather surprised him. Of course Harry gave as good as he got – Draco would have been disappointed otherwise – once with a jinx that made Draco's nose twitch uncontrollably, and most spectacularly with another hex that caused a crop of bright purple hair to sprout from his palms.

"It wouldn't be that useful in a real duel, I suppose," Harry said as he performed the counterspell, "but it's impressive in its own way."

"Oh, it might be startling enough to work," said Draco, inspecting his now fur-free hands. "Let me try _Protego_ against that one once more."

"Tomorrow. It's getting late, we ought to go on to Bristol. I was thinking that the university would be a good place to Apparate to. Term's over so there shouldn't be many people about, and it's in the city. There'll be buses going past, we can act like proper Muggles," said Harry.

They settled their rucksacks on their shoulders and Apparated together.

"I keep being nervous about that," Harry confessed after they had arrived safely.

"What, you think you're going to splinch yourself?"

"Not really. I'm worried that the Ministry will come after me for using magic out of school, and Apparating without a license to boot. I won't be seventeen until the end of July, so I'm still underage," explained Harry.

"Well, I'm unlicensed too," Draco pointed out, "even if I am of age." A birthday that had passed unnoticed, in flight for his life. "If a Ministry witch or wizard spotted us I'd be in far worse trouble than you anyway, I'm sure to be wanted for questioning at the very least. But they can't possibly keep track of every underaged wizard all the time, the Ministry simply hasn't the personnel to do it. They depend on parents to keep their kids in line."

"Yeah, that makes sense," said Harry. "I expect they watched my uncle and aunt's house because they knew I was there with no adult wizard or witch to make sure I didn't do any magic. I got caught more than once."

"Speaking of getting caught..." said Draco. They were coming up to a busy road.

Harry found a bus stop and deciphered the schedule for Draco's benefit. It looked as if they would have to catch a bus from here and then change to another that would take them to the hostel, he explained. As they boarded, Harry asked the driver which bus they needed to catch next and where, and the man replied readily, if with an air of boredom. Draco had to admit to himself that the Muggles he had seen so far in Harry's company had belied many of the stereotypes he had grown up believing, but – after all – he had not seen that many. And Harry's tales of his relatives were much more in line with what Draco had always assumed Muggles were like, so he would reserve judgment yet a while.

The room at the hostel was adequate, if tiny and rather far from the toilet. Though that might not be entirely bad: less noisy at night, Draco suspected. He was thankful when Harry decided they should go out to find their dinner, as the smells drifting along the corridor were unappealing.

Harry evidently liked Asian food even if he did not know much about it, since he chose a kebab takeaway for their dinner. Draco whispered to Harry to be sure to order some naan bread to go with the lamb and chicken. It was all better than he had expected, he decided, once they sat down and began to eat. Certainly better than what he had been eating before he had found Harry.

Apparently Harry was curious about that, for he asked Draco how he had managed all those weeks.

"It wasn't easy," said Draco. "Mostly I _Accio_'d things from shops, but I had to be careful so that no one would see."

"Stealing," said Harry, sounding censorious.

Draco reacted to the unspoken accusation with anger. "Yes, stealing. I didn't have a lot of choice, did I?" he demanded. "And after all, they were only..." he broke off.

"Only Muggles," Harry concluded.

Yes, only Muggles. But not all Muggles were bad, were they? Draco looked down at the shirt he was wearing, lent to him by Mr. Granger, and did not respond.

Harry was still talking, reminding Draco that Hermione should have his money for him in two days' time, and he would be able to pay his way after that.

But for how long? Draco had some idea of how many Muggle pounds his Galleons were worth, and it was not that much. And after the money was gone, what would he do? He would have to depend on Harry's continued good will. For all Harry's assurances that the money was no problem, it was galling to think that he, a Malfoy, could not pay his own way. He clenched his fists impotently, saying, "You needn't tell me it's wrong to steal even from Muggles." What did Harry think, that his parents had encouraged such behavior towards inferiors? They were not worth the risk of dishonor.

"I wasn't trying to accuse you," Harry said. "Really. I was only curious how you had managed; better than I might have, I think."

That ended the conversation for the time being, to Draco's relief, and they began to walk back towards the hostel. As they passed a particularly noisy nightclub, Harry surprised him by suggesting that they should go in and get a drink.

Inside it was as crowded, dim, and loud as Draco expected, with unfamiliar music pulsing in a beat that throbbed through his very bones. He looked around, blinking, and Harry handed him a glass. The cool cider quenched a thirst he had not noticed, and he drained it quickly, accepting a second pint when Harry brought it and drinking that one just as fast.

Too fast, he realized as the edges of the room went blurry. One distant gyrating figure at a time came into and out of focus as he peered at them. Harry was saying something.

"Leave?" Draco's attention was on a dark-haired man who reminded him of Blaise Zabini; the man's shirt was so tight that every rippling muscle showed as he moved. He heard only the last few words Harry said.

"...go to bed."

"To bed." Not yet, Draco thought, still watching the man across the room. Harry was tugging at his arm, pulling him away. Reluctantly he followed.

The cooler air outside roused him somewhat. Harry was taking them back to their room at the hostel. Draco let himself lean on Harry just a bit as they walked. In the room, he lay down on his bed and let his eyes drift shut, listening to the sounds of Harry taking off his clothes and imagining what he would see if he watched, but his head was whirling too much just then to do so.

"Draco." Harry touched his shoulder, saying, "Better get undressed for bed, you'll regret it if you fall asleep in all your clothes and your shoes."

That was Harry all over. Draco heard the door click shut as Harry went out, and reluctantly sat up. A quick _Accio_ with his wand brought the green t-shirt, and another spell folded today's clothes in a pile by his rucksack. He really ought to brush his teeth, but the bed was too tempting. Draco slid under the covers, half-asleep, waiting for everything to stop feeling like it would spin away.

He rolled over and opened his eyes, though, when Harry came back, and hazily watched him moving around the room. Suddenly Harry was kneeling beside him, looking concerned.

"You okay?"

Draco nodded dreamily.

"Sure?" Harry asked again.

Harry's green eyes looked like the sea after a storm, and gazing into them Draco thought he might drown. He lifted his hand, not sure if he was trying to push Harry away or grasp at him like a life preserver, but Harry drew back, his features twisting – in disgust? Anger? Draco did not know.

"Sorry," gasped Draco. "I'm so sorry, Harry." He turned his head away, ashamed, and closed his eyes so that he would not have to see the rejection he knew would be written on Harry's face.

Was that – it could not be Harry touching him? The brush of fingers along his jaw made Draco open his eyes, just in time to see Harry's face inches away, and then warm lips were on his own, Harry had crawled on top of him and was kissing him, tongue searching out every sensitive nerve in his mouth, dark hair falling across Draco's eyelids and cheeks in its own caress.

Draco shivered, as much at the unexpectedness of it as at the sensation, so convinced had he been a moment before that Harry despised his weak longing.

Harry broke off and muttered hoarsely, "Nothing more than this."

Nothing more? How could he not want more? Already Draco felt a desperate desire, the greater for having been denied for so very long, but he could not argue with Harry now, and so he nodded, pressing himself against Harry, drawing the other boy back for more of those furious kisses, hoping to persuade him otherwise.

An unmarked time later, he knew that Harry did not change his mind so easily. There was no denying that Harry was as aroused as Draco, but stubbornly, he would do no more than he had said, refusing to touch Draco below the shoulders, much less below the waist, or to allow Draco to do so to him. Whenever Draco tried to grind against him Harry would stop his kisses. Finally Draco gave up the idea. For now.

He was never sure how long it lasted before Harry gave him one final kiss, sucking at Draco's neck until he was certain the mark would not fade for days, and slipped away, back to his own bed. Draco thought about bringing himself off – it would take scarcely a touch, after being frustrated for so long – but somehow he could not bear to do it unless Harry were doing the same, and there were no telltale sounds from across the room. With a suppressed groan, Draco rolled onto his stomach, trying to soothe his ache and heat against the cool sheets.

In the morning, neither of them spoke about their nighttime encounter. Draco started to say something more than once, but was thwarted by the shuttered look on Harry's face. Harry had been so generous already, giving Draco food, shelter, the promise of help against being hunted down by Death Eaters or Lord Voldemort himself. Giving him acceptance and trust despite their long history of antagonism, and Draco had to acknowledge that anyone observing how he had acted towards Harry at Hogwarts would never have guessed that Draco's feelings for the Gryffindor might be anything other than vindictive dislike. Yet Harry had listened to Draco's plea despite all the reasons why he might not, had believed what Draco said, had not asked Draco for anything in return. The least Draco could do was not demand any more from Harry than he wanted to give, and so he held his tongue except for common necessity as they showered, ate breakfast, and finally left the hostel and Apparated to Yorkshire.

Harry had been right the day before when he said he felt there would be no difficulty finding a suitably remote place to practice magic without any Muggles nearby. The sky was a thin blue above the coarse grass of the hillside where they went, Harry once more taking Draco's hand to ensure that they arrived together in this unfamiliar spot. Draco thought that Harry held his hand a fraction longer than necessary, and felt slightly better.

"Now, you wanted to work on the Patronus Charm." Harry dropped his rucksack and sleeping bag and sat tailor-fashion on the grass. "You know the theory, of course."

Draco followed suit and also sat, pulling out his wand. "Concentrate on the happiest moment you can think of."

"Right. The key is to make sure you have a really happy memory, but you also have to have confidence that you can do it. It _is_ a tricky spell, so that believing it will work can actually be the most difficult part," Harry said thoughtfully. "When I first managed it, I hardly realized that I had succeeded."

"What animal is your Patronus?" Draco wanted to delay making a trial he suspected he would fail at.

"A stag," said Harry. "That's why I didn't think it was me."

Draco shook his head, saying, "I don't understand."

"Well..." Harry was clearly trying to decide how to respond. "I'd found out that – someone – was an unregistered Animagus who took that form, and I thought – that person – had come to help me."

"I see," said Draco, although the explanation did not altogether clear up his confusion. "You didn't expect your Patronus to be a stag."

"I had no idea what it would be, I'm not sure anyone does. It certainly doesn't seem that the wizard chooses," Harry said.

"Which is too bad, really. What if you had a really unimpressive-looking Patronus like, I don't know, a rabbit or something?"

Harry laughed. "Somehow I can't imagine a rabbit Patronus at all. Cho Chang's is a swan, but swans can be quite vicious you know. Have you ever had enough success to know what yours is?"

"No," admitted Draco. "Never more than a kind of silvery mist."

"That's what I got at first too. Okay, give it a go... or would you like me to do it first?" Harry looked at Draco, who nodded.

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose – for an instant Draco was distracted, thinking that when they were kissing last night, Harry had not been wearing them, but when had he taken them off? – grasped his wand, and called out, "_Expecto Patronum_."

Silver light shot from his wand, rapidly resolving into the figure of a stag, which dipped its great antlered head at Harry. Harry gravely saluted in return before letting it vanish and turning to Draco.

"Think of something happy," Harry prompted.

This was the sticking-point for him, Draco was sure of it. He did not lack confidence in his ability: his success with the Protean Charm two days earlier showed that he could handle difficult charms with no trouble. What would be a suitably happy memory? Winning a Quidditch match for Slytherin, perhaps. He was a more-than-adequate Seeker. Being taunted that he had bought his way onto the team second year had been unfair, he had earned that place even if his father's gift of broomsticks had been an extra incentive for Flint to choose him at the tryouts. Not a happy thought, the memory of those Gryffindor sneers. He banished it from his mind and concentrated on remembering the feel of the Snitch in his hand, the triumph of beating Ravenclaw.

"Now," said Harry.

Draco raised his wand. "_Expecto Patronum!_" But the mist that emerged failed to take on any recognizable shape.

"Try again."

He tried again, and again, and again, with no more success.

"Perhaps a different memory?" suggested Harry. "It can be hard to tell what is really your happiest."

That might help, maybe. Draco thought about it, and settled on the moment that he had been Sorted into Slytherin. He had been nearly certain that he would be, but had panicked briefly that he could end up in Hufflepuff instead. The decision of the Sorting Hat had been a great relief: he had not let his father and mother down.

Again, though, when he attempted the charm, it was no good, and however hard he concentrated on the memory, however often he said the words, he failed to produce a Patronus. He pulled a face. "It's no good."

"Here," Harry rummaged through his rucksack and pulled out a bar of chocolate, breaking it in two and handing Draco the larger piece. "It's tiring even if it doesn't work, I know."

Draco's whole arm tingled when Harry's fingers touched his. He ate several bites of the chocolate, then set the rest aside and licked the melting fragments from his fingers, saving the spot Harry had grazed till last. Another memory, he needed another memory. He took up his wand again and said, "_Expecto Patronum_."

This time, the silver mist at last took shape, and there in front of him was a great badger, clumsy-looking perhaps, but Draco knew it to be an animal stronger and more clever than its appearance might suggest. He held his breath as his Patronus first tipped its head to gaze at him, then deliberately walked towards Harry and nodded to him, too, before vanishing as Draco relaxed.

Harry raised his eyebrows, but said only, "Good. Wait a bit and try again, I think, until you feel comfortable with it. Eat the rest of the chocolate before you try."

Three more large bites of chocolate later, Draco again cast the charm with no trouble. As he had suspected, it had been the memories he had tried that had been insufficiently happy. Now he held fast to the surprised joy he had felt last night at the moment Harry's lips touched his own, and the badger Patronus emerged in a whoosh of silver.

"Well done, Draco," said Harry, grinning. "I think you really have it now."

Draco grinned back. "Yeah, I think I do. Thanks for the help."

"What help did I give? I expect all you needed was more practice," Harry said.

"Maybe... but thanks anyway," said Draco. It was still only late morning. "Er. Now that I've managed the Patronus Charm, what do you want to do for the rest of the day?"

"I think later we should Apparate closer to tonight's place and hike in the rest of the way," said Harry. "Until then – I guess we can practice some more, if that's all right with you."

"Why not?" Draco shrugged. "What jinx do you want to work on first?"

The rest of that day passed much as the one before, with the two of them alternating in hexing each other, trying various defensive spells to keep the other's jinx from working. At lunchtime they realized that they had forgotten to bring anything to eat, and Harry said he would Apparate away and bring back some food.

It seemed to Draco that Harry took rather a long time about it. To keep himself occupied, he practiced the Patronus Charm once again, this time concentrating to see how long he could maintain it. He was so intent that he did not notice Harry's return, and very nearly leapt out of his skin when Harry touched his arm. His Patronus vanished as Draco turned.

"Sorry," said Harry. "Didn't mean to startle you. Here." He handed Draco a plastic container. "Pasta with vegetables and chicken. I bought some bread and cheese, too, we can save that for tomorrow's breakfast."

They ate quickly and practiced for several more hours, then Apparated together and started walking toward the Skirfare Bridge Barn. Harry seemed less edgy than he had that morning, and Draco decided that he wanted to talk about last night before they were around other people again.

"Harry?"

"What?" He saw Harry's shoulders tighten.

"Look, about last night..." Draco was unsure what to say next, how to explain.

"You were drunk, or halfway there, and so was I," said Harry. "That's all."

"No, that's not all," said Draco. "It wasn't just because I was drunk, you have to know that. I mean, I might not have done it if I wasn't, but it was real."

"I'm," Harry stopped walking and faced Draco. "I don't know what to say to that. I don't think I feel what you do, what you wish I did. Not that I didn't want to do it, or didn't like it, but... this is just too weird, Draco." He shook his head. "I've spent six years loathing you, don't you know that? And it seemed to be mutual. It's really hard to suddenly change all my ideas like this. Besides, I don't..."

"You don't what?" asked Draco when Harry trailed off.

"I don't understand why you fancy me," said Harry bluntly. "I mean, there must be some reason. And you didn't show it until after you needed my help. It's not as if I'd be an obvious choice for you, so what's going on?"

Draco paused for a moment before replying, to bring his voice under control. "If you're saying that I'm saying that I like you just to be flattering, you're wrong. I admit I might do that, but I'm not. I can't prove it, though. As to why... I've always preferred boys," he said. "So, well, that's part of it. Why you? Merlin, Harry, haven't you ever looked in a mirror? But it's not just that you're a good-looking bloke, either, there's something about how you _care_ about things without taking life too seriously at the same time. Oh, I don't know, I'm not explaining well at all," he finished hopelessly. "Just that when I'm around you, I feel like everything's going to be all right."


	9. Skirfare Bridge Barn

**9. Skirfare Bridge Barn**

Harry was finding it difficult to stick to his resolve, although he kept reminding himself to do so. He was traveling with Draco not so that they could lie around snogging, but to save Draco's life. If it were not in danger he would not have listened to Draco to begin with. And how would he feel if Ginny carried on like this with someone else? He had only broken up with Ginny to keep her safe, as best he could: didn't he owe her a certain amount of respect in the circumstances? But Draco was here, touching him, urging him on, and it was impossible to resist altogether. Harry buried his lips in Draco's neck, sucking, biting at the skin in the hollow of Draco's throat. He wanted nothing more at this moment than to rub against Draco until they both came, but he forced himself to stop, to go back to his own bed, to ignore the way the blood pounded through his veins, all his senses shrieking at him to finish what he had started.

He could hear Draco's ragged breathing from across the room. The knowledge that Draco must be equally frustrated made it a little easier for Harry to bear. He knew he had made the right choice, for tonight, even if it was not what one part of him wanted.

The next morning he put on the most closed expression he could manage to discourage Draco from trying to talk about it – difficult when he kept seeing the bruise on Draco's neck and having flashes of memory about putting it there. Draco seemed to recognize Harry's reluctance, or at any rate he kept quiet until they had Apparated north.

Conjuring his Patronus as a demonstration for Draco a while later, Harry wondered why the Slytherin had such trouble with this charm when he had managed the Protean Charm relatively easily. Draco's talk about the shapes Patronuses took made Harry suspect that Draco was worried about having one whose appearance was insufficiently impressive for his taste. Well, that was something Harry could not help him with. The form a Patronus took was uncontrollable, as far as he knew. All he could do was to urge Draco to keep trying.

After a few failed attempts, Harry gave Draco a piece of chocolate, a trick he had picked up from Professor Lupin, and suggested that choosing a different memory might help.

This time, at last, from Draco's wand came not an amorphous silver mist, but an enormous... Harry blinked at it. A badger? He would have guessed Draco's Patronus would be a great cat, if not a snake or a dragon. He was even more startled when the badger moved toward him and bowed its head. What could Draco be thinking to make it do that? He had never seen anyone's Patronus behave so when the DA had practiced the charm.

Draco was flushed and grinning with his success, looking less irritatingly superior and more relaxed than Harry had ever seen him, the night before included. He had an instant's impulse to pull Draco over and kiss him, but suppressed it, instead saying simply, "Well done, Draco; I think you really have it now."

With that piece of magic successfully managed, they spent the remainder of the day working on some of the hexes, jinxes, and counterspells that they had not already practiced. It was not until they were walking towards the Skirfare Bridge Barn at the end of the afternoon that things became uncomfortable again.

Harry would not have suspected Draco to be the sort who wanted to talk about his feelings all the time, but it was Draco who began by telling Harry that even though he might have been half-drunk, that had not been the reason he had wanted to kiss Harry.

Stopping short, because he did not want to come upon any strangers while having this conversation, Harry told Draco that he had enjoyed what they had done, sure, but... he shook his head. "This is just too weird, Draco. I've spent six years loathing you, and it seemed to be mutual. It's awfully hard to change all my ideas this fast. Besides, you didn't show that you liked me until _after_ you needed my help. So what's really going on?"

It was a minute before Draco answered, but he met Harry's eyes as he spoke and there was no shadow of falsehood on his face.

"If _you're_ saying that _I'm_ saying that I like you just to be flattering, you're wrong. I admit that I _might_ do that, but I'm not. I can't prove it, though."

That was true, and Harry felt bad for making the accusation when he had no definite reason to suspect Draco of pretending. But it did still seem odd to him, such a complete turnaround in Draco's behavior. A month as a fugitive could not have provoked that, could it?

Draco was continuing to speak. "I've always preferred boys, and Merlin, Harry, haven't you ever looked in a mirror? But it's not just that you're a good-looking bloke, either. When I'm around you, I feel like everything's going to be all right. I'm not so worried now, and it's because I'm with you."

The words echoed in Harry's ears. "I am not worried, Harry. I am with you." That was what Professor Dumbledore had said the last night of his life. It shook Harry to hear the same sentiment from Draco Malfoy's lips. He was not sure he was strong enough to bear the weight of such trust; he had not been able to save the Headmaster, after all. What made him think he could help Draco? Of more immediate concern, how was he going to deal with Draco's feelings for him, and his own as well, until they – or more likely Hermione – found some solution for keeping Draco safe? This was only going to make a difficult situation more complicated still.

"Look, I don't disbelieve you, and I _am_ flattered. Just... don't expect too much from me, all right? This isn't quite what I had intended to be doing this summer," Harry finally said.

"What were you planning to do? I remember you mentioning something about that before," said Draco curiously.

"Er... I don't think I want to tell you about that right now," said Harry, his eyes straying to Draco's left arm. "I'll think about it, though, because it won't wait forever, and if we keep traveling together, you'll have to know eventually. Not that I think you'd talk on purpose, but if you _should_ be caught and taken to Voldemort... well, it would be safer for you not to know anything." Which was both vague and condescending, he knew, but true. Voldemort would probably not move his Horcruxes, Harry guessed, not if they were all as well guarded as the one taken by the mysterious R.A.B., but that did not mean any of them would be easy to find. The longer he waited the stronger Voldemort and his supporters would become. Losing Draco Malfoy would be nothing to Voldemort; he had plenty of others at his call.

"So it's something to do with working against him," Draco guessed. "All right. I wouldn't trust me that much either, if I were you. I _am_ still technically a Death Eater." He looked disappointed, however.

"As for... anything between you and me," Harry went on, "in the meantime until we find some way to protect you, I... can't promise anything, you have to understand that. You say you've always preferred boys, but I haven't. I like girls just fine. And what about Pansy Parkinson, anyhow?" Harry added sharply. "You took her to the Yule Ball in fourth year, and you didn't seem at all bothered when she was hanging onto you on the Hogwarts Express last autumn."

Draco looked uncomfortable. "I had to take _someone_ to the ball, didn't I, or look like a complete wanker, and there'd have been all kinds of trouble if it wasn't a girl. My family has very definite expectations for my future, and marrying a pure-blood girl and ensuring that the Malfoy line continues is high up on the list of what-Draco-must-do. Pansy's a Slytherin too, she may have some exaggerated ideas right now about my feelings for her, but she won't be too surprised or make a fuss if my parents make another match for me."

"An _arranged marriage_?" Harry said incredulously. "I know your family is obsessed with blood purity, but an arranged marriage? I don't believe it."

"Believe it. There are worse things... you don't want to know. And one positive angle, the girl – whoever it ends up being – will be in the same situation and not likely to mind much if, after a sprog or two, I suggest we can discreetly go our own ways," said Draco.

Harry could hardly credit what Draco was saying, but the other boy seemed quite serious. "That's just... too strange. It's like something Professor Binns might tell us about wizards in the thirteenth century. But you seem to have it all worked out."

"That's what _would_ have happened, anyway," Draco said. "Now – who knows? I'm on the run for my life, my father is in Azkaban – whatever happens, whether You-Know-Who comes out on top or not, what pure-blood family is going to want to marry a daughter to me? And if it's my decision, I doubt I'll marry at all."

"You doubt? But if you only like boys..."

"Doesn't mean I don't feel that it would be a shame to let the family end with me. There aren't any others in the direct line, with the Malfoy name. All my life I've heard about how long we've been a wizarding family, not even a Squib to shame us, how we've been in England since one of my ancestors came over from Normandy nine centuries ago, how important it is to keep the wizarding lines strong. There's a tapestry in my father's study that shows the whole family tree, dozens of generations," said Draco. "Mother's family had a similar one, she's told me, but I've never seen it, or not to remember."

Harry nearly said, "I have," but caution held his tongue. If he told Draco that, he would have to explain how and where he had seen the Black family tree. The Order of the Phoenix might still need to use the house at number twelve Grimmauld Place in the future; Harry did not have the right to break that confidence. Something about the old Black house teased at his memory, but he could not think what. Oh, well, perhaps it would come to him. Or maybe he could talk with Ron and Hermione about it when he saw them tomorrow.

"Sounds impressive," he said offhandedly, beginning to walk again. "I'm getting hungry, aren't you? Let's leave our gear and go find that pub that's supposed to be nearby."

Tonight's place was even more bare-bones than last night's, but after all it was quite remote. Harry considered that they were lucky to have been able to get the room. Most of the converted barn was occupied by a large group of American college students who ignored Harry and Draco, perhaps because the two wizards were several years younger than themselves. That suited Harry fine. After spreading out their sleeping bags on the cots, he and Draco headed down to the pub, only a ten-minute walk away.

It was not very busy when they arrived and they were able to order and eat quickly. Without talking about it, neither of them chose to have anything alcoholic to drink tonight: Harry had a coke and Draco opted for lemonade. After a while, though, more people began to drift in. Apparently this was a regular quiz night, popular with the locals.

"Shall we leave?" Draco suggested, eyeing the growing crowd.

Harry shook his head. "There's nothing much to do around here at night, I'm sure. Let's stay for a while and listen."

Despite having spent far more of his life at the Dursleys' than he would have liked, Harry found most of the Muggle quiz questions and answers unfamiliar, and Draco, clearly, was completely at sea. Harry thought that Mr. Weasley would have been equally lost but enjoyed it far more. He took pity on Draco after half an hour of seeing him become increasingly bored, and leaned over to say, "All right, perhaps not such a good idea after all. Let's go."

It was not yet nine o'clock, but Harry had been correct in saying there was little else to do. About half of the Americans had been in the pub. The rest were hanging about in the barn's common room, where several had a card game going, and one young man with blue-streaked hair was playing a kazoo, much to the noisy amusement of his friends. Harry was again grateful to Hermione for having managed to get a room that he and Draco would not have to share. Tonight's held three persons, actually, but there was no one occupying the third cot. He did not feel up to coping with foreign Muggles at the moment, and Draco, at any rate, was a known quantity.

"Can I look at your arm?" Harry asked when they had gone into the room and shut the door. They had discussed the Dark Mark Draco bore very little, for all that it was the cause of Draco's present danger, and Harry thought that perhaps they ought to, before meeting Ron and Hermione tomorrow.

Draco was wearing one of the long-sleeved shirts Mr. Granger had lent him. He started to roll the left sleeve up, then shrugged and took the shirt off altogether. Harry refrained from remarking on that decision. The snake-tongued skull of the Dark Mark leered in red lines at him from just below Draco's elbow.

"Has Voldemort summoned you through it, since the night Professor Dumbledore died?"

"How do you know about that use of the Mark?" Draco sounded startled.

"Does it matter?" Harry replied. "I know he can. Has he?"

"Yes," said Draco. "More than once." He shivered, touching his fingers to the Mark. "It's... not pleasant."

"I imagine not," said Harry grimly, thinking of the searing pain his own scar had so often given him. "Now, you say that Voldemort – " he saw Draco wince at his repeated use of the name, and amended, "that You-Know-Who can locate you through the Mark if you stay in one place for too long?"

"That's what Professor Snape said when he warned me to keep moving," Draco said. "I hadn't known it before."

Harry looked closely at the Mark without touching it. "I wonder how."

"No idea. But I don't think he would have lied about it. Why would he?"

"He's not exactly trustworthy, is he? Professor Dumbledore," Harry's throat was tight, and he cleared it before continuing, "Dumbledore believed Snape had left You-Know-Who's service, and look what happened."

Draco spread his hands. "I know. I know. You don't have to remind me about that night. Look, I know you hate Professor Snape, and I'm not trying to say what he did wasn't terrible, but I don't see why he would tell me I could be found through the Mark if it weren't true."

"Did he tell you anything else about it? Anything at all, something you could do besides keep running?" Harry was thinking out loud, pacing in the small space of floor between the cots. "If we could figure out _how_ Vol... sorry, how You-Know-Who might be using it to find you – maybe Hermione will have some ideas – there might be a way to misrepresent your location, or conceal it somehow. I wish I knew what Dumbledore had in mind." He really wished that Dumbledore had not died, that he had not made himself responsible for Draco now, even if he had chosen to do so for Dumbledore's sake.

"But we won't solve it tonight, that's certain. I hoped looking at the Mark would give me an idea, but it hasn't. We'll have to hope Hermione and Ron will have learned something useful by tomorrow."

"Yeah, I don't fancy spending an unlimited amount of time on the run, you know, not even in the enchanting company of the famous Harry Potter," said Draco in an exaggerated drawl.

Harry looked quickly over and saw that Draco was grinning.

"Enchanting, is that it? Never thought I'd hear Draco Malfoy use a word like that about me," Harry said lightly. "Blood-traitorous, more like."

The smile faded from Draco's face. "I'm sorry, Harry, I know I've already said so, but... things got rather out of hand between us, didn't they? I mean at Hogwarts."

"You could say that," agreed Harry. "From the beginning. To tell the truth, I thought you were a smarmy conceited git the first time I saw you in Madam Malkin's. No offense."

"Oh, none taken," was the reply, although Draco did not appear pleased. "I didn't know who you were then, of course. And when I _did_ realize, on the Hogwarts Express, and you were already hanging about with Weasley... well, I got angry. Stupid of me. My father had told me that it would be a good idea to get to be friends with Harry Potter if he came to Hogwarts, you know? Prudent and all that. More than half of me decided you were full of yourself because you were the Boy Who Lived. And when you were Sorted into Gryffindor, that rather settled matters. But there was a bit of me that wished things were different." Draco's laugh was wry. "Crabbe and Goyle aren't this interesting to talk to. Loyal, not clever. You and your friends were both... Longbottom excepted. Sorry. Anyhow, that's why I watched you... more than you ever knew. Even if I was a bastard in how I acted."

"I wasn't any better," said Harry. "Every time you did something – like trying to get me caught out of the dormitory in the middle of the night, remember that stupid agreement to duel in first year? – I'd hate you a little more. I wasn't much good at getting you back, though, you had the best of it there."

"You might say that I won more of the battles, but I think I lost the war," Draco said. "Harry?"

"Yeah?" said Harry warily.

"I'm not trying to seduce you or anything," Draco said, and stopped. Then he laughed. "Okay, I am, so never mind the disclaimer. You said you'd never been keen on boys. So why'd you kiss me? The night I found you, and again last night." He ran a hand through his fair hair, pushing it back so that the skull earring Hermione had given him glittered silver in the light.

"Oh. Er." Harry blushed, much to his chagrin. "Would you settle for 'it seemed like a good idea at the time'?"

"Only if you don't leave it at that. I can't believe I was the first bloke you ever snogged, you wouldn't have if I was. So what made it seem such a good idea?" said Draco curiously.

"The first night... you were going right on, weren't you? I thought it might calm you down a bit," said Harry, "and it did."

"And last night? Don't give me any rubbish about being half-pissed, either, that's not enough to explain it. If that were all you wouldn't have cared about how much we did."

Harry was not keen on examining his motives so closely but he seemed unable to get out of the conversation. "You're not so bad-looking yourself, you know," he said, which was nowhere near the whole truth but was no lie, either.

Draco raised his eyebrows.

"Plus, you'd kissed rather well the first time," said Harry. Again, true, if not all the truth. "I wanted to see if I remembered that right."

"Did you?"

"Yeah."

"Need another demonstration?"

"No," said Harry. "I don't need one." On the other hand, Draco had been sitting there shirtless for the past half-hour or more, and Harry had been wondering how that pale skin would feel. So before more than a flicker of disappointment had crossed Draco's face, Harry continued, "But I'd like one."

"So my far-too-obvious scheming has had an effect?" said Draco.

"It still has to be my rules, or I won't play," Harry warned him. "I'm not up for being your boyfriend, or anything like that."

Draco said, "Did I ask you to be?"

"As long as that's straight between us."

"Harry, whatever happens between us, I don't think 'straight' is how we've ever played."


	10. At the Barn

**10. At the Barn**

Much to Draco's relief Harry seemed to accept that Draco was telling the truth about liking him, though he did look a little wild about the eyes still. If it was disappointing that Harry would not explain his mysterious summer plans right now, he did hint that he might do so later on, and Draco could wait. He knew that he would never betray Harry to Lord Voldemort. Harry would someday believe it too.

But asking Draco about Pansy Parkinson and pure-blood marriage arrangements? Every time Draco forgot for a while that Harry was not just half-blood, but raised by Muggles to boot, the other boy came out with something that showed his woeful ignorance of the wizarding world. Not that Draco blamed him. It was simply disconcerting to have to explain things that were so taken for granted in Draco's experience.

For instance, when Draco mentioned that with himself on the run and his father in Azkaban, it seemed unlikely that he would end up in an arranged marriage, and then added, "If it's my decision, I doubt I'll marry at all," Harry said it was odd that Draco would even consider marrying, given his preference for boys. Draco found it hard to explain how important his family, and the continuation of the family, was to him. Not that he was close to his parents, that was beside the point. It was the blood itself that mattered, not some mystical connection between those who bore it. The pure-blood line – how could Draco convey the significance of that to someone who did not share it? Despite Harry's own half-blood status, despite having to admit that even a Mudblood like Hermione Granger could be an extremely talented witch, Draco still felt that there was value in maintaining the old families intact, not diluting them by marriage to Muggles. He struggled to find some way to express his feelings, and ended up telling Harry about one of his family's most valued treasures, a tapestry that showed their family tree, dozens of generations of Malfoys back to a distant Norman ancestor.

"Sounds impressive," was Harry's casual response. It made Draco wonder if Harry could ever understand how he felt. Not that he expected Harry to _agree_, necessarily, but it was disheartening to talk about something so important and have it dismissed in such a cavalier fashion. He was sufficiently irritated to remain silent as they left their things at Skirfare Bridge Barn and walked down to the local pub for some dinner.

Drinking tonight seemed like a bad idea. Draco did not want to lose control again as he had now done twice around Harry. So he ordered a lemonade, and was glad when Harry made a similar decision.

Gradually the pub filled up with Muggles. A noisy question-and-answer game of some sort began, and Draco asked, "Shall we leave?"

"There's nothing much to do around here at night," Harry pointed out. "Let's stay for a while."

Listening to quiz questions about people and events he had never heard of was not terribly thrilling. Bored, Draco watched the Muggles instead, and soon noticed that one of them – one of the Americans also staying at the barn, he thought – was looking back at him with an interested expression. In fact, the bloke had the audacity to smile and cock his head towards the empty seat beside him, plainly inviting Draco over. Draco shook his head, the tiniest of motions, and moved his chair a little closer to the completely oblivious Harry. The sandy-haired man shrugged his shoulders, made a regretful face, and turned back to his friends.

Most peculiar, Draco considered, to have had such an exchange with a Muggle. Despite fancying blokes since he could remember, he had never considered anyone but a wizard worthy of his regard – not that he had never done any _looking_ at them, mind, but nothing _serious_. This almost-encounter had ended all right, but Draco was glad to hear Harry say, "Perhaps not such a good idea after all. I'm bored. Let's go."

There was nowhere to go except back to the barn and indeed to their room, since a number of the American group were hanging about the common room. Draco was not keen on lingering there; they might be friendly, in an over-exuberant puppyish way, but he could not think of anything he would want to say to one of them. He definitely wanted to avoid the bloke who had been in the pub. Luckily Harry seemed equally disinclined for Muggle company, and with a few polite noises they escaped.

Surprisingly, the first thing Harry said when they had shut the door to the room behind them was, "Can I look at your arm?"

Of course, the Dark Mark. The reason they were here, and they had never yet talked much about it. Draco began to roll up his sleeve, then realized that this was a prime opportunity, and instead pulled the shirt off completely. He saw Harry's eyes flicker over his torso briefly, and hid a pleased smirk as Harry sat down on his cot and bent to examine the Mark.

"Has Voldemort summoned you through it, since the night Professor Dumbledore died?" asked Harry.

Draco was astonished that Harry knew about that method of communication, but admitted that he had been thus summoned, adding, "It's not pleasant." That was an understatement. If he had not been warned about it, he would have screamed the first time he felt the touch, like flames licking along each line of the Mark. He did not know just how it was done, though, nor how Lord Voldemort might be able to track him through the Mark if he stayed in one place for long. Professor Snape had not explained the technique, if he had known it himself, and Draco told Harry so.

Nevertheless Harry seemed certain that either they would figure something out, or that Hermione Granger would. His confidence was astonishing under the circumstances, but Draco found it a comfort. To try to lighten the mood further, he said, "I hope she has some useful ideas. I don't fancy spending an unlimited time on the run, you know, not even in the enchanting company of the famous Harry Potter."

Harry looked nonplussed by that statement, so Draco grinned at him to show it was a joke. Harry said, "Never thought I'd hear Draco Malfoy call me _enchanting_. Blood-traitorous, more like."

There was far more truth to that than Draco wanted to remember. From the first time he had seen Harry to know him, almost, he had been rude or worse. He hardly knew anymore how it had started, except that he had been so annoyed that Ron Weasley had already managed to suck up to the Boy Who Lived that he, Draco, had spoken without thinking and managed to get off on the wrong foot.

Why _had_ he been so angry about Weasley befriending Harry? Just because his father had told him to try to get to know Harry Potter if he could, and Weasley interfered with that plan? Surely it could not have been jealousy, not when he had really known nothing about Harry then. Harry _had_ seemed annoyingly cocksure for someone who had been raised as a Muggle, though, and of course when he was Sorted into Gryffindor and Draco was put in Slytherin, House rivalry made it nearly impossible to alter a pattern of behavior that had already begun in mistrust and insult.

And yet there had been something about Harry that fascinated Draco, so that he was always aware of where Harry was and what he was doing, wishing that he were part of Harry's charmed circle, even when he was saying the worst possible things about Harry to the Slytherins. Draco tried to explain this now, saying, "Crabbe and Goyle were loyal, but not clever. You and your friends were both, Harry, and that's why I watched you, even if I acted like a complete bastard most of the time."

"I wasn't any better," Harry said. "I'd hate you a little more every time, but I wasn't as good at getting you back. You had the best of it there."

"Maybe I won more of the battles, but I think I lost the war," Draco mused. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not trying to seduce you or anything," Draco began. But he was. And Harry would know it. He might as well be honest. So he laughed and went on, "Okay, never mind, I am. Anyway, you said you'd never been keen on boys, so why'd you kiss me those two nights?" He was genuinely curious. His own feelings for Harry might have always been more complex than he allowed anyone else to realize, and especially so in the past couple of years, but he was a Slytherin, he was not going to do anything unless there was some advantage in it for him somewhere, not if he could help it. Gryffindors were not like that; they were like dragons hunting in a forest, with a good chance they would destroy half the place without realizing it on the way to their goal, only to regret it later. Harry had plainly always loathed Draco, their whole time at Hogwarts, and equally clearly all his crushes had been on girls. Why _had_ he kissed Draco?

Harry was actually blushing. "Er. Well. Would you settle for 'it seemed like a good idea at the time'?"

"Not if you leave it at that," Draco said. "I don't believe I was the first bloke you ever snogged, you wouldn't have done it if I had been, but what made it seem such a good idea?"

"The first time I thought it might calm you down a bit, and it did," Harry said.

Draco could believe that reason, recalling how panicked he had been that first night, almost crazy with weeks of relentless apprehension, but it did not explain Harry's behavior yesterday. "And last night? Don't give me any rubbish about being half-pissed, if that were it you wouldn't have cared about stopping."

"You're not so bad-looking yourself, Draco, and you'd kissed rather well the first time," Harry said, to Draco's amazement. He had always fancied himself talented when it came to serious snogging, but no one had actually told him so before. Well, Blaise was far too self-centered to even think of complimenting someone, and he was the only one whose judgment Draco would be likely to trust on such matters. And although Draco knew himself to be attractive, it was astonishing to hear Harry say so. Judging from the company Harry kept, Draco would never have guessed Harry cared at all about appearances.

"I wanted to see if I remembered that right," Harry finished.

"Did you?" Draco asked, not sure if he was asking if Harry had really wanted to see, or if he had remembered correctly. Harry's response – "yeah" – could be an answer either way. Draco tried to pin him down by inquiring, "Need another demonstration?"

"No, I don't need one," Harry said, and Draco's hopes plummeted, only to leap up again when Harry went on, "But I'd like one."

Ah ha. True Gryffindor – the direct approach had worked on Harry, where a more subtle ploy might have failed.

That did not mean Harry gave in easily, though. He said, "It still has to be my rules, or I won't play. I'm not up for being your boyfriend."

"Did I ask you to be?" Draco was less indignant than his words might sound. Step by step. If Harry had to think he was in control, Draco would let him. Rules were made to be bent, as long as one was willing to risk the consequences. Draco was sure that he could judge Harry's reactions well enough to convince him to alter his rules; maybe not tonight, but sooner or later.

"As long as that's straight between us," said Harry.

"Harry, whatever happens between us, I don't think 'straight' is how we've ever played," said Draco, a host of altercations running through his memory. "But for tonight I'll do whatever you want." He made no promises for the future.

The other boy's eyes widened. "And if I say I want to go to bed?"

Draco caught his breath. "You want to go to bed?" This was unexpected: Draco had been sure that Harry would again set strict limits.

"To sleep, I mean," Harry qualified hastily.

Oh, dragon pox. Too good to be true. "I said I would do what you want," Draco repeated. "If you _really_ just want to go to sleep, then that's what we'll do."

But Harry had been teasing, it seemed, because he now leaned over and pushed away the hair from Draco's ear, nipping at the lobe where the skull earring nestled silver.

"That's not really what I want," Harry breathed.

The warmth of his lips sent shivers down Draco's spine. He took Harry's left hand and slowly, giving Harry time to draw back if he wanted, brought it to his own lips, sucking at the tip of each finger and then running his tongue across the palm.

"What _do_ you want?" Draco asked.

"It doesn't matter. I _want_ more than I'm going to do, if that's any consolation to you," said Harry.

"Why not do what you want?"

"Because what I want isn't what's right to do," Harry said. "Chalk it up to Gryffindor honor, or something, but..."

Draco pulled away. "Is it because it's _me_, not someone else? Or because I'm a Slytherin? Or because I'm a bloke, or what?"

"A bit of all those," Harry said, rumpling up his hair. "Sorry, but that's how I feel just now."

Now. Draco held onto that word. Now did not have to mean always. But wait: Harry had not denied it earlier when Draco had said Harry must have snogged other boys before. Before he could censor the words, Draco said, "But you've kissed a bloke before, how can that bother you?"

"Have you considered that maybe it wasn't what I wanted then either?" Harry sounded almost cross. "It was just... experimenting. Fooling around. Practicing, you know? Didn't you ever snog a girl, because you were there and she was too and you were curious about it all? But it wouldn't necessarily mean you were seriously interested in her, or in any girls for that matter."

"I've kissed a couple of the Slytherin girls," Draco admitted. The recollections were not appealing. Pansy Parkinson had more or less trapped him after the fourth-year Yule Ball, and then there had been Daphne Greengrass in the Potions dungeon in fifth year. But it had never been more than a few kisses and fumbles, just enough so that he did not get whispered about in the corridors. The Malfoy family had a long reputation for being extremely fastidious when it came to sexual encounters, and Draco had taken full advantage of the fact to avoid them – with a few notable but still discreet exceptions.

"So you can see why a snog or two won't necessarily change your mind about wanting to be with boys rather than girls, or the other way around. Did you even _like_ the girls?" Harry had pulled up his legs and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"Not all that much. Silly cows, they were," said Draco. He figured that Harry would guess that one girl was Pansy, just as he suspected that Harry's bloke must have been Weasley, but he did not want to use any names. It gave him a moment's interesting speculation, though, to think that Harry had probably snogged a brother and sister, and he wondered if Harry had ever compared the two. "But hang on a minute. You're saying that kissing another boy bothers you, but you want to do more than that with me, maybe, and yet you're not going to? I don't understand you at all, Harry."

Harry unclasped his right hand from his knee and touched Draco's arm just below the Mark. "No, I don't suppose you do. Does it matter?"

Of course it mattered. Didn't it? Draco looked at Harry, whose dark hair was as messy-looking as ever, whose glasses were perched askew on his nose, whose clothes were baggy and untidy. He was a half-blood, a Gryffindor. It was Harry who had put Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban – well, Dumbledore had done it really, but it was because of Harry. But it was also Harry that Draco had dreamed of for years, imagined every time he kissed someone else, fantasized about at night when he touched himself. It was Harry who had offered to help Draco at risk of his own life, and Draco wanted to understand why Harry acted as he did. "Yeah, it matters," he said, and he put out his hand to Harry's face and carefully lifted off his glasses.

He half-expected Harry to resist or protest, but Harry did not. Instead he took his glasses back from Draco and leaned over to set them on the floor, nearly overbalancing and having to unfold his legs to keep from falling off. Draco clutched at him too, without thinking, though when Harry had pushed himself upright again Draco relaxed his grasp and waited.

"All right," Harry said. "If you don't understand, now isn't the time to explain. Wait a few days and I think you just might have an idea, Draco. For now... well, would you rather have something, even if it's less than what you want, or nothing at all?"

"Something, of course." Draco shrugged. "Tell me the rules."

"Nothing below the waist." Harry looked pointedly at Draco's hands, still resting on Harry's thighs, and Draco hastily removed them. "And no more clothes off than this."

Draco shook his head. "No, you have to take your shirt off if mine is." Besides, he had plans – as long as Harry did not turn out to be ticklish, that is.

A small grin danced across Harry's face. "Thought you'd say that. Right, fair's fair." He hauled the flapping t-shirt over his head and tossed it towards his own cot. "Satisfied?"

"Evidently I'm not going to be," Draco spoke lightly. "I suppose this'll do for now." He was once again struck by Harry's appearance: the Gryffindor had always seemed on the scrawny side in his school robes, but Harry was in fact quite nicely muscled. Realizing that he was staring rather, he quickly brought his eyes back up to meet Harry's gaze.

"Good," said Harry softly, and reached out for Draco. "We'll want to be quiet..."

"Yeah." Draco was not sure he trusted the Muggle lock, but he was not about to stop and dig out his wand to put a _Colloportus_ on the door. Not when Harry was running his hands over Draco's chest as if it were parchment and he were trying to feel the inked words with his fingertips. Draco's cock was stone hard already, trapped by the solid fabric of his Muggle jeans. Wizarding robes were much more convenient for this sort of thing. He shifted, trying to relieve the uncomfortable pressure of the metal zip, and pulled Harry down so that they lay facing each other. That was a little better. He pushed long strands of hair out of his eye and propped himself up on his right elbow, bending his head forward to bite Harry's neck just at the spot where he had imagined doing this two days before.

Harry gasped, and his thumbs which had been rubbing over Draco's nipples pinched hard as Draco mouthed the skin of Harry's neck. Draco's triumph at Harry's reaction translated itself into a wild surge of lust. He reminded himself that if he tried to go further than the bounds Harry had set, he would never get this much again, very likely. So he eased off without even leaving a bruise on Harry to match the one that purpled his own neck. Instead he slid his arm under Harry's shoulders and brought them closer, running his left hand up and down along Harry's bare back, careful to neither dip below the waistband of his jeans nor to press his aching groin against him.

His lips met Harry's and opened, their tongues darting out to taste each other. Nothing at all like kissing a girl, this. Girls were so tentative, so _tender_, whereas Harry was not ungentle but there was force and power there too. Harry was not the very best at kissing that Draco had ever encountered, but definitely number two, with potential. And Harry was making enthusiastic little noises, his hands threading into Draco's hair – he had not been just flattering Draco before by saying he thought Draco was good too.

They kissed for quite a long time before Draco drew back a bit and began to trail his way along Harry's neck and down his chest. He was about to flick his tongue over Harry's nipple – whatever fooling around Harry had done with Weasley or whoever it was, Draco would bet it had not been more than practice snogging and hand jobs, and he hoped this would be rather more of a turn-on – when agony seized him.

"Fuck!" Draco grabbed at his arm and rolled away, almost falling off the cot, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to keep down the howl that wanted to escape his throat.

"Draco?" Harry was pulling him back from the edge. "Is it..." He had pried Draco's hand away. "Voldemort, yeah. The Mark's turned black, he's summoning the Death Eaters, isn't he?"

Draco could just nod, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he strove to master the fiery pain. This was the worst he had yet felt it, and he wondered if that meant Lord Voldemort was nearer by than before.

"How long does it last?" said Harry, concern evident in his voice.

With an effort Draco opened his eyes to Harry's worried face and said hoarsely, "A few minutes, usually."

Harry nodded, holding Draco's hands in his own for the next ten minutes as the sharp burning slowly faded and Draco relaxed a little.

"Great timing, huh?" Draco grimaced. "My apologies."

"Not your fault," said Harry absently. "Well, it is since you agreed to become a Death Eater to begin with, but you know what I mean. You didn't pick that minute for Vol... sorry, for You-Know-Who to summon you."

"Right." Draco was unsure whether Harry was blaming him, but on the whole he thought not. Still, this had put an end to any more fooling around for tonight; such a clear reminder of Draco's former allegiance was not going to keep Harry in the mood, and Draco was feeling rather less than sexy himself after enduring the Dark Lord's touch. "I suppose the best thing to do now would be to try to go to sleep."

"Probably. And move on early tomorrow, before breakfast even," Harry agreed. He got off the bed and stood looking down at Draco. "Are you going to be okay?"

Draco tried to smile with his usual assurance. "Sure. If you don't mind bringing me that t-shirt to sleep in."

When he had put it on, wincing, and pulled off his jeans with some difficulty, he wriggled his way down into Mr. Granger's sleeping bag. Harry had gone off to the toilet; Draco considered it but decided it would not be necessary till morning. The Mark still throbbed intermittently as he lay waiting for Harry to return.

Harry came in, quietly shutting the door behind him. After he finished changing out of his clothes and flicked out the light, Draco spoke.

"Still sure you want to help me, Harry?"

"_Accio_ wand. _Lumos_." Harry's wand-tip glowed palely and the light reflected off his glasses, giving him an oddly blind appearance as he padded on bare feet towards Draco.

"I gave you my word," Harry said, kneeling down by the cot. "You don't think I'd go back on it, do you?"

"No, but..."

"No," said Harry firmly. He bent over and kissed Draco, hard and fast. "We're in this together, Draco."


	11. To Bath

**11. To Bath**

It was too easy to tease Draco for Harry to resist. When Draco promised that he would do anything Harry wanted tonight, Harry replied, "And if I say I want to go to bed?" He meant to go to sleep, but the words were hardly out of his mouth when he realized that Draco would assume he meant he wanted to shag.

Harry corrected that misimpression quickly, but Draco's willingness to accept that Harry preferred to sleep even though it was clearly not what Draco hoped for made Harry leave off the teasing and instead lean over to whisper in Draco's ear, "That's not really what I want."

What he wanted – what he _really_ wanted – was Ginny. But that, of course, was impossible. Second best might, just might, be Draco, Harry decided. Discovering he was the object of someone's long-term desire gave him a warm if not altogether comfortable feeling. Of course, this was _Draco Malfoy_, and Harry still did not trust him entirely. But on the other hand, this _was_ Draco, and since Harry had broken up with Ginny because he could not bear to put her at risk if their relationship became known to Voldemort – well, that would not be an issue with Draco, would it? Draco was already in as much danger as he could be.

Nevertheless he had no intention of becoming seriously involved with Draco, not yet. He had seen what happened to Ron. A few face-swallowing kisses with Lavender and Ron had found himself unable to get out of a relationship that had been as much annoying as satisfying. Draco might not make that kind of assumption – Harry was unsure how two blokes handled becoming boyfriends, it might be different – but what if he did? Best to do nothing, perhaps, but with Draco sitting there half-naked... temptation beckoned.

So Harry explained, to himself as much as Draco, "I _want_ more than I'm going to do. Chalk it up to Gryffindor honor or something."

Draco's expression was insulted. "Is it because I'm _me_, or because I'm a Slytherin, or because I'm a bloke?"

"A bit of each," Harry admitted. "I've kissed a bloke before, but it wasn't... it was just experimenting, practicing. Haven't you ever kissed a girl, even though you weren't really interested?"

As he suspected, Draco had, even if he made faces at the memory. Draco protested, "You're saying that kissing another boy bothers you, but you want to do more than that with me, maybe, and yet you're not going to? I don't understand you at all, Harry."

It was not worth the effort to correct Draco's misunderstanding. Harry's experience with Ron had not put him off the idea of boys, but neither of them had been serious about it either. Kissing another boy did not _necessarily_ bother Harry. It was a question of circumstances. "No, I don't suppose you do understand, Draco," Harry said. "Does it matter?"

"Yeah, it matters," Draco said, and reached over to take off Harry's glasses.

Harry let him do it, too surprised to stop him, then took the glasses and leaned down to put them safely under the cot. He was skeptical of Draco's words. He could accept that Draco fancied him, and he had concluded that Draco was rather less of a bastard than he had thought, but this reply made it sound as if Draco wanted not just help from Harry, not just casual sex, but an actual friendship. That was an utterly strange idea, and it made Harry warier and more reluctant to go very far, not until he had sussed out Draco more thoroughly.

He made his rules clear. "Nothing below the waist, and no more clothes off." He could manage that, he thought – fun, but not too serious.

Draco had – deliberately, Harry suspected – let his hands remain on Harry's thighs after helping Harry back up from setting down his glasses. He tacitly agreed to the first condition by raising them, but bargained, "No, you have to take your shirt off if mine is."

True Slytherin. Not willing to concede without trying to shift the balance of power. Harry thought that Draco might have done better to let Harry keep his shirt on, actually, but perhaps lust was outweighing other considerations for Draco at the moment, just as it was for Harry. He said, "Thought you'd say that. All right, fair's fair." He peeled off his own shirt, once Dudley's and far too large, and balled it up to throw across the room. "Satisfied?"

"Evidently I'm not going to be," Draco said, and Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing. Draco would probably take it the wrong way.

"We'll want to be quiet," Harry warned, glancing at the door, and then at last he did what he had wanted since Draco had oh-so-casually taken his own shirt off, he ran his hands along that cool pale skin and pressed Draco down onto the bed.

Harry had not considered what Draco might do once he was within reach, and so the sudden feel of Draco's teeth and lips and tongue against his neck made him gasp, his fingers instinctively pinching in reaction. Draco did not object to the rough treatment of his nipples, though, only reaching around to pull Harry closer and kiss him on the mouth instead for a while.

He might not tell Draco so, but honesty made Harry admit to himself that Draco was better at snogging than Ginny, even. The way that he used his tongue... Harry groaned in his throat and ran his hands up Draco's back and into that fine fair hair. If he had not been so insistent about setting rules, he would have been grinding his hips against Draco, because every movement of Draco's tongue brought an answering twitch in Harry's cock, and it was taking all his effort to keep from coming in his jeans.

When Draco began leaving wet kisses along Harry's neck and down his chest, Harry was ready to let him go further if he tried. But Draco had just reached Harry's right nipple when he abruptly pulled away.

"Fuck!"

"Draco?" Harry's first thought was that Draco had had some kind of seizure: he had gone rigid and almost fallen off the narrow cot. Then he saw that Draco was clutching at the Dark Mark on his arm. "Is it Voldemort?" He pried Draco's hand away. "Yeah, the Mark's turned black. He's summoning the Death Eaters, isn't he? How long does it last?"

Eyes that had been dilated with lust moments before were now wide in agony as Draco croaked, "A few minutes, usually."

There was nothing Harry could do except hold onto the other boy as Draco quivered, and discreetly ignore the tears that wet his cheeks. It must be even worse than the pain he used to feel from his own scar, Harry decided. Finally Draco's body began to relax against Harry.

"Great timing, huh? My apologies," Draco said, his cracking voice belying the light tone he attempted.

Harry admired the effort to act normally; he doubted he could have done so himself. "Not your fault. Well, it is, since you joined the Death Eaters, but you know what I mean. You didn't pick that moment." Seeing the pain Draco had endured, Harry felt guilty for saying it was Draco's fault at all, but it was true. And a reminder of why Harry had to doubt Draco's loyalties. If Voldemort or one of the Death Eaters found Draco, would he be able to hold out? Harry wanted to believe so. He remembered Draco's hesitation before Dumbledore – surely that showed Draco's conscience at work. And yet...

His thoughts were interrupted. Draco said, " I suppose the best thing now would be to try to go to sleep."

"Probably," Harry agreed. He doubted how well either of them would sleep, but it was the only sensible thing to do. "We should move on early tomorrow. Are you going to be all right?"

"Sure," Draco's voice rang with bravado. "If you don't mind bringing me my t-shirt."

By which Harry understood that Draco still hurt too much to want to move. He got off the bed and opened Draco's rucksack. The green shirt was on top, neatly folded. Harry tossed it to Draco and left for the toilet.

When he came back he thought Draco might have already managed to fall asleep, so he took off his clothes quickly and switched out the light. He was about to get into the sleeping bag when Draco said through the darkness, "Still sure you want to help me, Harry?"

The room's light would be too much. "_Accio_. _Lumos_." The tip of his wand glowed and he went over to Draco.

"I gave you my word. You don't think I'd go back on it, do you?"

"No," said Draco, "but..."

"No," Harry cut him off. Draco's eyes were huge, his face paler than usual in the wand-light – or was it the aftermath of shock? Harry leaned down and kissed him. "We're in this together, Draco."

Climbing onto his cot, Harry thought idly that Hermione might approve, if not for Ginny. She had always said that the Sorting Hat had the right idea about wanting the four Houses to work together. Not that Hermione would necessarily think highly of Harry getting _involved_ with Draco, but working with him would fit her notions of the-right-thing-to-do.

As Harry hovered on the edge of sleep, another idea occurred to him. Perhaps, just perhaps, Draco might have some information that could help lead Harry to Voldemort's Horcruxes. There were very likely three, possibly four, still to find and destroy as Dumbledore had planned. Harry doubted that Draco would know much about Voldemort's movements or habits but he might have heard something sometime, perhaps from his father. Learning what Draco might know without explaining why, though, would be difficult. Harry fell asleep, still pondering.

Morning dawned grey. They left the hostel by seven, giving the impression that they planned a long hike that day, and as soon as there was no one in sight, Disapparated.

Draco had said to Harry while they were dressing that he thought the reason the Mark had hurt so badly this time might be because Voldemort was somewhere nearer by than had been the case before when Draco had been summoned. Harry felt that was a plausible explanation, and so they agreed to go somewhere far to the south. Not directly to Bath, however; instead they Apparated to Brighton and spent the morning mingling with the holiday crowd. Harry enjoyed it, despite being concerned at how Draco might react to large numbers of Muggles. It was not impossible, either, that one of Voldemort's supporters could be among them. But Harry had never gone on holiday with the Dursleys, so he ignored the possibility and acted as if he had no worries.

Gradually Draco picked up on Harry's mood and began to smile rather than sneer at the sight of Muggles anointing themselves with lotion, where a wizard would perform a basic Anti-Sunburn charm. He ate his full share of the bagful of sausage rolls and vegetable pasties that Harry bought them for lunch, as well. By the time they Apparated on to Bath in midafternoon, Harry was determined to talk to Ron and Hermione, especially Hermione, about what they should do next. Perhaps without Draco there, if he could manage it, so that they could discuss the Horcruxes and some other matters freely.

They were to meet the other two at five o'clock by the hostel, and still had a couple of hours to spare. Harry said, "Want to look at the baths? I suppose that's what there is to do here."

"Why not?" Draco shrugged.

The restored Roman buildings proved more interesting than Harry had expected. Draco, as it turned out, was a fount of knowledge about obscure points of Roman religion and social habits, and his whispering some of the odder of those to Harry nearly got them thrown out when Harry laughed aloud too often. The notion of a recipe that began, "Take ten thousand larks' tongues," struck him as absolutely hilarious for some reason. Eventually the frowns of the older tourists became too much, and they decided to go wait for Ron and Hermione, though it was still a few minutes early.

Ron was already standing in front of the hostel when Harry and Draco arrived, wearing an extremely disgruntled expression.

"What's up, Ron?" Harry asked as soon as he reached him.

"Hi, Harry. Malfoy," Ron added coldly.

"Weasley," Draco inclined his head.

Harry ignored the animosity. "Is there some kind of problem? Where's Hermione?"

"Oh no, no problem. Hermione's inside, she managed to talk both her parents and mine into letting us stay here tonight, I don't know how," said Ron.

"Great!" Harry said.

"Yeah, that's good, but," and now there was a note of anguish in Ron's voice, "she insisted on getting here at _noon_ and touring everything we could possibly manage in the time. D'you know how boring it is to hear about what kind of material Muggles used for draperies two hundred years ago?"

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione appeared from inside, "anyone would think I was making you write a three-foot essay on it. It wouldn't hurt you to learn a bit about Muggle history, goodness knows you've never learned anything in Professor Binns' class. Hello, Harry, Draco. Everything gone all right so far?"

"Not really," said Harry.

Both his friends looked anxious. "What happened?" Ron said, shooting a suspicious look at Draco.

"Last night..." Harry began, then thought better of it. Voldemort's summons had been to Draco, and it was the Slytherin who should tell what had happened. "Draco? You explain."

Draco blinked, but said, "Last night You-Know-Who summoned the Death Eaters. It was worse than any time ever before. I'm not sure if that was because he was closer, or angrier, or what." He held out his arm and showed Hermione and Ron how the Dark Mark had turned black, and had not yet faded back to the red they had seen several days ago.

"Have you two learned anything useful yet?" said Harry urgently. "We can keep hopping from place to place for a while, but..."

"I know," said Hermione. She looked around. "We'd better find somewhere more private to talk."

"Let us just leave our things here first," said Harry. "I'd rather not haul it all around all night."

The four of them walked along several streets, looking for something suitable. Without consciously deciding to, Harry found himself walking next to Draco and behind Hermione and Ron, who were again bickering about the sightseeing Hermione had insisted they do.

Harry noticed that the bruise he had left on Draco's neck two nights earlier was plainly visible above his t-shirt. Bollocks. Well, maybe the other two had not spotted it yet.

"Draco, do you know a spell to get rid of bruises?" he asked in an undertone.

"What? Oh. _Oh_," said Draco, his eyes widening. "Er... try _Pallesco_."

Stopping, Harry pulled out his wand. "_Pallesco_," he muttered, and was relieved to see the bruise fade from purplish brown to a scarcely visible yellow. When he repeated the spell, it disappeared altogether. He stuck the wand back in his pocket and quickly knelt and pretended to be retying the lace on his trainer when Ron, realizing that Harry was no longer behind him, turned to see what had happened.

"'S all right, my shoe came untied is all," Harry said, hurrying to catch up. "Which way now?"

"How about going in there?" Draco pointed across the street and the three Gryffindors swivelled their heads simultaneously to look.

"A churchyard, brilliant idea," said Ron sarcastically. "It's right out in the open, Malfoy."

"It's not a bad idea, actually," Hermione frowned. "For a church it looks rather neglected. I can't imagine anyone else would be wanting to go in there tonight."

Ron threw up his hands. "Fine."

Harry suspected that what bothered Ron was the state of the place. Even from here he could see the many strands of spider web that festooned the overgrown bushes, but it could not be helped. It _was_ private enough that they could talk about wizarding things all they liked without risk of being overheard.

There were several benches scattered around, none of which would hold more than three people, so Harry flung himself down on the long grass in front of one bench and waited for the others to sit. Draco picked the end closest to Harry. Ron hesitated. Harry could tell he was weighing being next to Draco against being next to the spider-infested bushes. As Ron paused, Hermione moved past him and sat in the middle, leaving Ron no choice. He sat at the other end, but as close to Hermione as possible.

"Let me see your arm again, Draco," said Hermione in a matter-of-fact voice. She held his wrist and looked the Mark over carefully, her lips pursed. "How long does it take to fade from black to red again, after you've been summoned?"

"A day," said Draco.

"A day? Exactly twenty-four hours?" Hermione pursued.

Draco scowled. "I never paid that much attention to it, but probably."

"So when did it happen? I want to know how long we'll have to examine it like this and when it will change back," Hermione clarified.

"I don't know exactly when," said Draco, sounding scornful and defensive both at once. "I wasn't looking at a clock at the time."

Harry saw Hermione's eyes flicker to Draco's neck, and he interposed hastily, "We were hanging about at the hostel. I'd guess it was about eleven or so; there's a few hours yet."

"All right. Well, we already know that the Dark Mark is a variation of the Protean Charm. But it seems there are at least two special conditions on it. First, it can't be removed, that we know of." Hermione looked at Draco questioningly, and he nodded.

"That's right. My... my father didn't know of any way. I overheard him once, talking about it with my mother."

Hearing that Lucius Malfoy had considered trying to remove the Dark Mark that bound him to Voldemort surprised Harry. His first guess was that the elder Malfoy would have done so solely for his own benefit and safety, when it looked like Voldemort would never return, but he could be wrong. He wanted to ask Draco if he knew why his father would have done it, but decided that Draco would be more likely to answer if Ron and Hermione were not there. For the moment Harry kept quiet.

Hermione was nodding. "That much I was fairly sure of, it fits You-Know-Who's personality. The second modification is that he can use the Mark to find the Death Eaters himself, if they don't obey his summons."

"That's what Professor Snape told me, when he warned me to run," Draco said.

Ron had been silent through the discussion so far, but now he said skeptically, "So you hadn't known that before? You just took Snape's word for it?"

Draco leaned forward to glare past Hermione at Ron. "Harry asked me that too, _Weasel_. But he couldn't think of a reason why Professor Snape would've lied. Can you do better?"

It was plain that Ron wanted very much to think of such a reason. His face had flushed with irritation until it was as red as his hair, but he said nothing.

Unexpectedly, it was Draco himself who answered his own question, after the awkward silence had persisted for several minutes. "Oh, no. But it still must be true, because how else...?" he mumbled, running his hands distractedly through his hair as he stared wide-eyed at Harry..

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"What must be true?" demanded Hermione at the same moment, in a voice that sounded rather like Professor McGonagall's.

Draco winced. "Harry, I didn't tell you all the truth."

"Big surprise there," Harry heard Ron mutter. Draco must have heard it as well, but he did not react to the jibe.

"When I came to find you... it wasn't my idea. It was Professor Snape's suggestion, after he told me that the Mark could be used to trace me. He said you were too honorable and courageous not to help me, even if you despised me, but that since you were about the most unlikely person I would turn to the chances were that You-Know-Who would never guess it," Draco said. "I suppose I should have told you, but I know how much you hate Professor Snape and I thought you wouldn't listen to me at all if I said he had suggested it. But – maybe he was _hoping_ I would find you, for other reasons."

"Yeah, so that he and the Death Eaters could find me too, if they followed you," Harry said bitterly.

"But that would mean it wasn't a lie about the Mark being used to track people," Hermione pointed out. "And if he didn't lie about that, why assume he would use Draco to find Harry? After all, Draco didn't manage to kill Professor Dumbledore, his record of success isn't good, so why would Professor Snape need to use him to find Harry? Everyone at Hogwarts knew Harry spends at least part of the summer with his aunt and uncle. Professor Snape could wait for him there, or the other Death Eaters could, to catch him and take him to Voldemort."

"No, they couldn't," said Harry.

"Why not?" asked Ron.

"Because going there once a year keeps me safe from Voldemort till I come of age," Harry said. He saw the looks on their faces, varying mixtures of confusion and disbelief. "Dumbledore told me so. Until I'm seventeen, my mother's blood protects me from direct harm from him. So it wouldn't have done any good to wait at the Dursleys' for me, I'm still sixteen. Nothing has ever hurt me there, and if Voldemort could have, he would have, I'm sure."

"But what about the Dementors two summers ago?"

Hermione had a point. Harry considered it, and realized, "Voldemort didn't send them to Little Whinging. That was Umbridge. So it doesn't contradict what Dumbledore said."

"But it doesn't mean that I might not be leading the Death Eaters to you," Draco's voice was flat and miserable. "If not right now, then within a couple of weeks, as soon as you turn seventeen."

"Or Snape could still have been lying," said Hermione, "although honestly I can't quite see why he would, except maybe just to scare Draco so that he would be extra-careful about hiding?"

Now it was Harry's turn to stare in disbelief. Hermione had a habit of trying to find the best in people – like Dumbledore, he realized – but surely this was going too far, even for her. A tangle of emotions roiled in him. He was angry with Draco for not having said all this to begin with; worried that their suspicions might be correct and Draco might be being used to track Harry like a human niffler; pleased that Ron had been clever enough to realize that Snape had possibly lied about this use of the Mark; and, most exasperatingly and despite himself, flattered that Snape had said he had honor and courage. He did not want to hear anything good about Snape.

It was too much to cope with all at once. Harry let himself fall back on the grass, disregarding the twigs poking into his neck and back, and threw an arm across his eyes.

He heard whispers above him on the bench, then Ron saying in an annoyed voice, "Oh, all _right_," and finally feet moving away.

Someone sat down on the ground next to him, but Harry refused to look and see who it was.

"Harry?"


	12. At St Mary's Churchyard

**12. At St. Mary's Churchyard**

Together. Draco savored the word. He knew that Harry meant no more than that he would help protect Draco as best he could, yet it gave him a curious thrill to hear Harry say it. Though his arm still ached he could set the pain aside and let his thoughts linger instead on how it had felt to be with Harry, before that interruption. It allowed him to sleep, when he might have expected to be unable to.

In the morning they left quickly. Draco suspected, from the intensity of the Mark's burning, that Voldemort might be nearby, and suggested they should go somewhere distant for the day, but not directly to Bath. It seemed safer not to spend any more time than necessary in a single place. Harry chose Brighton – why, Draco could not at first imagine, but eventually Harry's enjoyment at watching the antics of the Muggle holiday-makers coaxed Draco into a good humor as well.

He was sufficiently cheerful, by the time they Apparated to Bath, to regale Harry with bits and pieces of information about Roman habits as they wandered through the restored ancient baths. Some Malfoy ancestor had been fascinated by that era, and had amassed an enormous collection of both wizard- and Muggle-written books on the subject. Out of sheer boredom on his school holidays Draco had read his way through quite a lot of the dusty volumes, and was now able to tell Harry about some of the more entertainingly bizarre things the Romans had done. Harry seemed to find their culinary concoctions most amusing; Draco was more intrigued by the odder religious rites, like bathing in bulls' blood. Their mutual snickering earned them glares from the other tourists until they decided to go and wait for Harry's friends at the hostel.

Weasley was already there, looking irritable and shuffling his feet in the grass. He greeted Harry with enthusiasm, Draco with a cold, "Malfoy."

Draco would not have expected otherwise. He returned chill for chill. "Weasley."

It seemed Granger had persuaded both her own parents and the elder Weasleys to allow the two of them to stay in Bath that night with Harry and Draco, and had moreover pressured Weasley into spending all afternoon visiting various sites and museums in Bath. They had gone to the Roman baths first, evidently – which was why Harry and Draco had not seen them there – and then some of the Georgian-era buildings. Draco repressed a grin at the thought of Weasley being dragged against his inclination through the exhibits. Granger would have been over the moon with loquacious enthusiasm, a wearing thing at best. He should really call her Hermione, Draco reminded himself, as he had begun doing before.

When Hermione emerged from the hostel, Harry urged Draco to explain what had happened with the Mark.

"Last night, You-Know-Who summoned the Death Eaters," said Draco, and showed them the blackened image of the skull on his arm. "It was worse than ever before – I'm not sure if he was closer, or angrier, or what."

Before they discussed the matter further, the four of them agreed that finding a more private spot than the pavement in front of the hostel would be a good plan. Harry let Hermione and Weasley walk ahead and fell in beside Draco, much to Draco's pleasure. He had half-expected the three Gryffindors to walk together and leave him trailing unwanted behind.

Under cover of Weasley's bickering with Hermione – and how _did_ Harry stand that? – Harry suddenly said, "Do you know a spell to get rid of bruises?"

"What?" said Draco, and then, as Harry touched his own neck, realized that the love-bite Harry had left two nights before must still be visible. "_Oh._ Try _Pallesco_." A handy charm that Blaise had taught him; his fellow Slytherin had a propensity to be over-enthusiastic, but was no more eager than Draco to have his activities widely known.

Harry performed the spell twice, nodding to let Draco know that it had worked. He then pretended to be retying his trainer to cover for their having fallen behind, when Weasley looked back. As Harry did so, Draco saw what looked to be an ideal place for discreet wizarding talk, a churchyard. Its sign, announcing that St. Mary the Virgin held services at 8:00 and 10:30 every Sunday morning, and Evensong on alternate Sunday evenings, was half-hidden by an overgrown dog rose. No one seemed to be about on this Friday. If they found a spot well away from the road, no Muggles could possibly overhear anything. Weasley seemed reluctant, but grudgingly sat on one of the benches after Hermione had taken the middle seat, next to Draco. Harry lounged at their feet, looking surprisingly comfortable in the long grass.

Naturally it was Hermione who took the lead, setting out what little they knew for sure about the Dark Mark. Draco told her that after a summons, it took a day for it to fade again from black to red. She was pleased when he confirmed her guess that the Mark could not be removed, although Draco was fairly sure it was because the answer fit her theories, not because she wanted Draco to be permanently sealed to Lord Voldemort. She made a sympathetic face, almost as if she liked him and regretted the situation he was now in, and Draco saw why Harry trusted her as a friend.

Weasley, on the other hand, was openly skeptical when Draco said that Professor Snape had told him that the Mark could be used to trace the Death Eaters. Draco snapped back, any intention of being more friendly vanishing, "Harry asked me why I believed Professor Snape too, _Weasel_, but couldn't think of a reason why he would've lied. Can you?"

That confounded Weasley, all right, and he just sat there looking foolishly angry. Draco enjoyed the little triumph for a moment before he remembered again what Professor Snape had said, and his glee faded. The Potions Master had been awfully insistent that Draco should look for _Harry_, rather than anyone else, and instead of staying alone. Like everyone who had ever seen the two interact, Draco was well aware of the animosity that existed between Professor Snape and Harry, but only now did it occur to him – perhaps this was all part of a plan to let the Death Eaters use Draco to find Harry, and take him to Lord Voldemort?

Aghast at the possibility and stumbling over his words, Draco blurted out, "Harry, I didn't tell you all the truth."

When he explained, however, Hermione said, "If that was his plan, then it _wasn't_ a lie about the Mark being used to track people. But Draco didn't manage to kill Professor Dumbledore, his record of success isn't good, so why would Professor Snape need to use him to find Harry?"

Draco felt a peculiar mixture of emotions on hearing Hermione's words. He was still slightly ashamed to have failed at the task he had been set, even though he knew he had not really wanted to succeed and would have been far more horrified had he done so. It was pleasant to know that Hermione did not think he had been deceived by Professor Snape as to the uses of the Mark. And he was extremely worried that he was indeed being used to track down Harry.

But Hermione continued, "Everyone at Hogwarts knew that Harry goes to his aunt and uncle's house every summer. Professor Snape or the other Death Eaters could wait for him there, there'd be no need to use Draco."

That seemed logical, until Harry said, "But Professor Dumbledore told me that as long as I can call the Dursleys' my home, and visit once a year, my mother's blood protects me from direct harm until I come of age. Waiting there would have done no good, I'm safe till my birthday."

"So I might be leading the Death Eaters to you, then," Draco realized miserably. "If not right now, then within a couple of weeks, as soon as you turn seventeen." There was something in Harry's explanation that sounded not quite right. Draco could not put his finger on it, though, and surely the Headmaster would not have misinformed Harry about such a thing.

"Snape _could_ still have been lying, although honestly I can't quite see why he would, unless he just wanted to scare Draco into being extra-careful," said Hermione. "It would be safest to assume he was telling the truth."

The possibility that Professor Snape might have lied to protect him was occupying Draco's attention when Hermione nudged him and pointed at Harry, who had rolled over in the grass and put his arms over his head.

"He's had too much bad news, he's pulling away," she hissed. "I've seen him like this before."

Draco shook his head, disbelieving. Harry would not give up like this, not from hearing that perhaps, and only perhaps, Draco was being used to find him. That made no sense. Harry had fought Lord Voldemort face-to-face and won – Draco's father seen it, had ranted about it at great length afterward. But Hermione seemed very sure. Unless... Harry could not possibly think Draco had agreed to any such plan, was working against him, could he?

"Ron," Hermione whispered, "you and Draco go... oh, go get some chocolate. That might help. And something to drink too."

"No," said Weasley, low but determined. "Not with Malfoy. You go with him, I'll stay with Harry."

Hermione just looked at him. Draco wished he could see her expression, because after a minute Weasley capitulated, saying angrily, "Oh, all _right_." He stood up and glared at Draco before turning and marching towards the street.

"Here," muttered Hermione, and shoved her purse at Draco. "I got your money changed, it's in there. Go on. Find a newsagent's, they'll have all that."

Draco took it awkwardly and set off after Weasley, who was nearly out of the churchyard already. As he caught up, he saw from the corner of his eye that Hermione had knelt beside Harry and was leaning over him. Draco hoped she knew what she was doing. He wished he were in her place.

Weasley was glowering at him. "If you've put Harry in more danger, Malfoy, I'll..."

"You'll what?" Draco cut him off. "Run and tell your father? Get Longbottom and Lovegood to come after me? Challenge me to a Quidditch match? I'm scared, Weasley, I'm really scared." As he said it, he recognized that he was, actually, scared that he was going to put Harry in danger. Not that Harry was exactly safe anyhow, but if Draco made it worse... whatever Weasley thought of doing to him would be better than what Draco would find to do to himself. The realization that he valued Harry's life as much as his own was strangely freeing.

"I'm sorry," Draco said quietly.

"What?" Weasley gaped at him.

"I'm sorry," Draco took a deep breath, and added, "Ron. I don't want to bring any harm to Harry, I swear I don't. You can believe me or not."

Ron shot Draco a deeply suspicious look and shook his head. "Never thought I'd hear Draco Malfoy apologize for anything."

"Well, now you have," said Draco. They walked in silence for several hundred yards. "Er. Did you see a newsagent's on the way here from the hostel? I wasn't really looking."

"What's that? Why?" said Ron.

"Not likely to be a branch of Honeydukes around here, is there? Muggle newsagents sell sweets and stuff, I guess, Hermione said to go there to buy the chocolate," Draco said.

"Oh, yeah." Ron pointed down the street. "I saw some kind of shop around that corner."

They had trouble choosing what to buy from the array available, finally settling to get one each of a dozen different chocolate bars in the hope that some would be all right. They bought several cans of fizzy drinks, too. Draco struggled with the unfamiliar Muggle money when he took it all up to the till to pay. He had used it occasionally before, but not often enough to easily tell if he had received the proper change, not when he was far more accustomed to sensible Knuts and Sickles.

On their way back to the churchyard, Draco hoped they had given Hermione enough time to talk Harry out of his agitation. He resented that she had claimed that role, though a small part of him knew that Harry would be far more likely to listen to her than to Draco, or perhaps even Ron. It disturbed him to see Harry so overwrought. Harry was a Gryffindor, he was supposed to be courageous to the point of being foolhardy. What was wrong? Should he offer again to release Harry from his promise to help? No, Harry had been very clear last night that he was determined to see things through.

"Malfoy," Ron's voice broke in on Draco's thoughts.

"What?" said Draco.

"Why _did_ you ask Harry for help? Just because Snape suggested it? It seems awfully... unlikely, you coming to Harry."

Draco stopped walking and leaned against the cool black-painted iron of a lamppost. "Why do you think I did it?"

Ron squinted at him. "I dunno. Nothing I can think of makes sense."

"Who would _you_ go to, if you were in the kind of situation I'm in? Can't go to your family, it would put them in danger, same with your friends or anyone you're known to be associated with," Draco said. "So what would you do?"

"I guess... yeah, okay," said Ron in unsatisfied tones. "I still think there's something you're not saying, though."

Draco looked appraisingly at Ron, surprised at his perception. He was right, of course, but it was none of his business what Draco felt about Harry. When Draco had guessed that Ron was the bloke Harry had snogged before, he had felt faintly contemptuous of Harry's taste. Ron Weasley had always seemed to Draco to be perhaps just a more effectual version of Vincent Crabbe or Gregory Goyle: a pure-blood without much else to recommend him, who had attached himself to a more powerful and successful friend. Now, though, Draco realized his presumption had been incorrect. His ingrained dislike of those he considered blood traitors had colored his perceptions without warrant. Ron might be nowhere near as clever as Hermione – well, who in their year was? – but he was no fool. Better to disarm him by telling him some of the truth.

"Of course I'm not saying everything," said Draco, spreading his hands and setting the carrier bag swinging wildly on his arm. "D'you really want the details of the weeks I spent before I came and got you to tell me where Harry was? D'you want to hear about the nights I slept in Muggles' back gardens, by their rubbish bins? About the days when I didn't have anything to eat, and drank out of bird baths?"

All of which was true, and humiliating to admit, but somewhat beside the point. The confession served its purpose, though, in distracting Ron, who looked by turns pleased, then guilty, and finally embarrassed. "No," he muttered," I don't need to hear all that. Harry believes you, and he's promised to help you so I will too. But mind, if I find out that you've hurt him somehow, I will hex you from now till next solstice, don't think I won't."

He looked so serious, so grim, that Draco was not even tempted to laugh.

"I told you before, I mean no harm to Harry. I offered last night to leave, let him off his promise to help, and he said no. I'll ask him again if you like but he'd only say the same," Draco said.

Ron nodded. "He would. Don't bother."

They resumed their walk back to the churchyard.

"Hope Hermione's snapped him out of it," said Ron. "He was really shaken after..." he cast a sidelong look at Draco, "after Professor Dumbledore's death. It was Ginny who cheered him up, as much as he could be, but then he broke up with her. She took it awfully well. Odd really. You'd have thought it was her idea, but I know it wasn't."

"Oh?" said Draco, as casually as he could manage. Harry had broken up with Ginny Weasley? He had never mentioned that when he talked about her. Perhaps there was more hope for Draco than he had thought.

"Yeah, Ginny and Hermione are good friends, and Hermione told me a bit of what Ginny thought. I couldn't get Harry to explain why did it though. A lot of nonsense about not wanting to hurt Ginny more," Ron shrugged. "And right after the funeral, too. I would've thought she would act more like Lavender and make a great fuss, but what do I know?"

Rather against his will, Draco felt a grudging admiration for Ginny for taking the breakup calmly. Hogwarts gossip had pegged her as Harry's True Love, but the gossip was evidently no more accurate than it usually was. Draco had begun to suspect so, judging by Harry's attitude towards him. Still it was good to hear it from someone else. He said, "So Harry did the breaking-up, but he was the one more upset about it?"

"Yeah. I wonder if that might not be what Hermione's been talking about with him," said Ron. "It hasn't been that long, he might still be bothered over it even if he hasn't mentioned it much."

They had reached the shabby churchyard again. Hermione and Harry were sitting on the bench, and Draco just caught the words, "...but he _is _kin to the Blacks," before they saw Ron and Draco returning and fell silent.

"Chocolate, as you asked," said Draco, holding out the bag to Harry and giving Hermione her purse. Who was kin to the Blacks? Himself? Why did that matter? He wanted to ask, but did not. If they had wanted to say, they would have kept talking.

Harry reached into the bag and pulled out a Mars bar. Unwrapping it, he looked from Ron to Draco and said, "No blood, I see."

"Nope," Ron answered. "Maybe later." He took the bag from Harry and sat down next to him.

Hermione had looked in her purse. "I meant for you to take the money I had Bill exchange for you," she said to Draco.

"I wasn't sure how much was mine," said Draco, settling himself in the grass between her and Harry.

"You had thirty-three Galleons in that sack, which worked out to just under £163, at yesterday's exchange rate," Hermione told him, counting it out. "£162.69, to be exact."

Draco shoved the coins in his pocket, fingered through the wad of paper, and pushed a five-pound note back at her. "The chocolate," he said in explanation. "I want to pay for some of that, you shouldn't have to."

She nodded and took it, tucking it back into her purse. "Eat your chocolate, Harry, don't sit holding it till it melts down your wrist," she said briskly.

Harry had been watching them divide the money, but now he blinked and took a bite, shoving his glasses up his nose with his other hand.

"Thanks Ron, thanks Draco," he said indistinctly through the mouthful.

"Here," Ron fished out a can of orange drink, handing it to Harry. "You might want this too."

Taking it, Harry nodded. He looked much less tense and unhappy – whatever Hermione had done or said, it had worked, Draco thought. He was glad of that, if jealous that it had been she who had snapped Harry back to his usual self. Draco wished he were next to Harry on the bench. He wanted to put an arm around him, to tell him wordlessly that it might not be all right, but – as Harry himself had said – they were in this together. If Draco's presence brought the Death Eaters' attention, or that of Lord Voldemort, to Harry more quickly, it was too late to help it, but Draco promised himself he would do whatever it took to protect Harry.

"Right," said Hermione purposefully. Draco thought that he could get tired of her propensity to take charge, though he admitted she was good at it. "To get back to what we're here to talk about. We can't get rid of the Dark Mark on your arm, Draco, and we _think_ it can be used to trace you but we don't really know for certain. Professor McGonagall is letting me use the Hogwarts library, but I haven't told her exactly what I'm looking for. If you'll give me permission to do that, she might have some better ideas – maybe a way to Transfigure the Mark, for instance, or to mask it somehow."

Draco hesitated. "Won't you have to explain about seeing me, if you tell her you're researching the Dark Mark? It's not a likely thing for you to be looking into for no reason. I don't much want anyone to know where I am, though, I don't know who I can trust. Present company excepted of course," he added hastily, although he trusted Ron only for Harry's sake.

"I might," admitted Hermione. "She would probably be curious about why I was interested."

"Let Hermione tell, if she has to," said Harry. His eyes met Draco's, with a reluctantly pleading expression, as much as if to say, we cannot do this alone, the two of us, let her do what she must to help. Draco could not deny that unspoken appeal.

"All right," said Draco heavily. "But try to say as little as possible."

"I will," Hermione promised. "What I really want to find out for certain is whether the Mark can be used to follow you, because if it can't there isn't nearly so much to be concerned about. I need to learn how the Ministry of Magic keeps track of underage wizards – You-Know-Who might use some variation on that, although it seems improbable since they don't need to mark children – and perhaps some of the Aurors who were working fifteen years ago would know something."

"Like Moody?" said Ron.

"He'd be one, yes," Hermione said.

Ron said, "I'll ask the Aurors if you like."

"Actually I was thinking you could look into the Ministry, since your dad works there, but if you'd rather do it the other way around, all right," said Hermione. "Harry, I was hoping that you and Draco could try and alter the Mark. It may be permanent, but if you can change it enough perhaps You-Know-Who wouldn't be able to use it for summoning or finding Draco, either one. I don't think it will be easy, maybe not even possible, but I brought several books that might have spells you could try. They're from Hogwarts. You can take them with you when you go tomorrow, just be sure that I get them back within a fortnight or so." She looked expectantly from Harry to Draco and back.

"We can try," said Harry in doubtful tones.

Draco nodded agreement, feeling as dubious about such an attempt as Harry sounded. If his father had not known of any way to remove or change the Dark Mark, what chance had they of discovering one?

"I'm willing to give it a try, but don't expect much," he said.

"No, but it will give you something to work on, since you can't do the other sorts of research," said Hermione.

"I wish I knew what Dumbledore had in mind," burst out Harry. "He said he could hide Draco and his parents as well. How?"

"If he knew a way, then we can figure out one too, even if it's not exactly what he intended," Hermione said with supreme confidence.

Draco wished he could be so sure, and looking at Harry he could tell that the other boy was worried too. All they could do now, he supposed, was the best they could.


	13. The Bath Hostel

**13. The Bath Hostel**

"Harry?" Hermione repeated, and Harry felt her hand touch his hair, stroking it away from his forehead. "I sent Ron and Draco off to buy some chocolate, but they won't be gone for very long. Talk to me, Harry."

"Why?"

"Because you're obviously upset and talking about it might help you to make more sense of things," said Hermione.

"No," said Harry, lowering his arms to look at her. "Why did you send Ron and Draco away?"

She flushed. "I thought you'd be more willing to talk if I were the only one here. Was I wrong?"

Harry considered it. Ron was his best friend, but this was not the sort of thing Ron was good at. And Draco was part of the problem. "No, you weren't wrong."

"So what's bothering you so much?" Hermione asked. "It's not that You-Know-Who or the Death Eaters might be trying to find you through Draco, is it? Because that doesn't seem terribly likely to me, it's an awfully roundabout way to go at it. I should think it much more likely that they would simply be trying to locate Draco, and if you're there it's only chance, because you said you'd stay with him to help. Not something anyone else could expect, not even Professor Snape telling Draco to look for you."

"Unless Draco is in on it," said Harry, low. "Unless he lied to me from the start and I misjudged him."

"Do you think he did?"

"I don't _want_ to think so. But it's possible, anything's possible with him. None of us really knows Draco, and of course he _is_ a Slytherin – they're all keen on getting ahead, getting power, aren't they, whatever it might take," Harry said. He sat up and sighed. "I don't think I can tell what he's doing, or why."

"Yes, I would say that your judgment of Draco is probably suffering from a certain lack of objectivity just now," said Hermione, with a note in her voice that claimed Harry's attention.

"Why do you say that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Several reasons... but mostly because there's no bruise on his neck," Hermione said.

Harry blinked, confused. "Because there's _not_ a bruise?"

"He had one when you first met us today, but by the time we got here it was gone. You must have given him that love-bite, if it had been from someone else you wouldn't have bothered about removing it," shrugged Hermione. She bit her lip and looked serious. "Harry, do you know what you're doing? What about Ginny?"

Blood heated Harry's cheeks at that. "I know," he said. "Well, no, I don't really. But Ginny... she's too vulnerable. She wouldn't be in any danger, not more than any other witch her age, if she weren't going out with me. I couldn't stand it if I were responsible... if Voldemort found out, somehow, and Ginny were hurt. He's already after Draco anyway, and..." he wound down. Hermione was staring at him.

Defensively, Harry said, "You always said that the Sorting Hat was right to encourage more inter-House cooperation."

"Cooperation, yes, but..." Hermione flapped her hands, "you doing whatever it is you're doing with Draco isn't what I had in mind and you know it. What _are_ you doing? I don't mean physically, I don't need to know that, I mean... are you feeling serious about this? About Draco? Because I'd never have expected that of you, not at all."

"I don't know how I feel yet. I'm pretty sure Draco's serious though," said Harry, "even if I don't really understand why. He's told me some of the reasons, but... it's still too weird to think about, much less talk about, okay? And this thing about him being used to find me – I would've sworn he wouldn't do something like that, but he didn't tell me Snape had sent him to find me... how can I trust him? How can I trust my own judgment of him?"

Hermione patted him gently on the shoulder. "You've done pretty well in the past. You were right that he was a Death Eater, remember, and Ron and I were both wrong. If you believe he's really changed sides, I'll trust it's true. He's changed a lot. Maybe it began when he was alone and on the run, maybe it's only in these last few days, but this isn't the same Draco Malfoy that we knew at Hogwarts.

"So Draco's one of the things bothering you, understandably, but that can't be all. What else?"

"Snape," said Harry. He stood up and began pacing in the long grass.

Hermione got up too and went to sit on the bench again, out of his way. "What about Snape?"

"He told Draco I'd help him, even though I hated him, because I had honor and courage. How could he say that? He despises me, he thinks it's only luck that I've done what I have. Hearing a compliment from him is like finding a Flobberworm in your bed, it's disgusting," Harry said. "I feel dirty just thinking about it."

"But it's true, you know. You _are_ helping Draco, even though it might well put you at greater risk than you already are, and you agreed to do it because it was the right thing to do, even though you detested him... then, whatever you might feel now. Just because Snape admits you have good qualities doesn't make them any less real. And it's not as if he told _you_ – I bet he never expected Draco to repeat what he said." Hermione grinned. "I wouldn't have thought Draco would pass on a compliment to you, either."

Put like that, Harry thought, his reaction did seem a little silly and overblown. He managed a half-smile in response, and sank down next to Hermione on the bench.

"No." Harry reflected. "I think what's bothering me more than what Snape said, more than not knowing if I can trust Draco or even how I feel towards him, is the feeling that there's just so much I have to do, so much I've become responsible for. I broke up with Ginny to avoid that, and yet here I've let myself be saddled with protecting Draco instead, and I'd meant to be looking for the Horcruxes, doing something really useful toward defeating Voldemort for good. But I don't know where to start searching, or how Dumbledore thought to find them – I don't even have any real ideas on how to help Draco except to keep running. And we can't run forever, and I'm not sure if I trust him enough to tell him about the Horcruxes so that we could try to look for them as we moved around. The only people I really trust are you and Ron, now that Sirius and Dumbledore are both gone."

Something about that teased at his thoughts. He continued, "And it seems like there's something I'm not remembering. I look at Draco," he spoke the words with a careful lack of inflection, "and he reminds me of... I can't think what."

"Does he remind you of a person?" asked Hermione. "Or is it something to do with helping him, maybe something Professor Dumbledore said?"

"I don't _know_," said Harry in frustration. "If I knew it wouldn't bother me. I don't think."

"He reminds _me_, just a bit, of Sirius," Hermione said thoughtfully. "He _is_ kin to the Blacks..." she broke off.

"Later," muttered Harry, as he too saw Ron and Draco approaching, Draco swinging a carrier bag from one arm. The two of them bore identically wary expressions, but still looked more at ease with each other than Harry would have expected.

"Chocolate, as you asked," said Draco, and gave the bag to Harry. Their fingers touched and Harry had to suppress a mad urge to grab Draco's hand. He cocked his head and squinted at Draco as the other boy gave Hermione back her purse and sat down on the grass. Draco _did_ look something like Sirius, around the eyes especially. It was perhaps more noticeable now than ever before, now that Draco had been jolted out of his safe life as a Malfoy, a Slytherin, a prefect, and gone on the run to preserve his skin. He had not endured what Sirius had endured, of course, but...

Harry realized he had been staring at Draco just as Hermione reminded him to eat the chocolate he had taken before it melted in his hand. Ron gave him a can of orange drink as well, and Harry took an enormous swallow to wash down the sticky chocolate.

Hermione was summing up what she had said earlier, that they did not know how to remove the Mark from Draco's arm, and that they thought but were uncertain if it could really be used to trace him. She asked Draco if he would let her tell Professor McGonagall about her search for information on the Mark, in the hope that the Headmistress might know more or be able to give them some ideas.

It was clear from Draco's expression, even before he spoke, that he did not like that suggestion. "Won't you have to explain about seeing me, then? I don't much want anyone to know where I am, I don't know who I can trust, present company excepted."

"I might, she would probably be curious," said Hermione.

But it was the most likely way to learn what they needed to quickly. Hermione was clever, but Professor McGonagall had decades of study behind her. She would also have access to the portraits of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses, including Dumbledore himself, and who knew what they might suggest? So Harry urged Draco, "Let Hermione tell if she has to." He caught Draco's eyes with his own and held his gaze, _willing_ Draco to agree.

Reluctantly Draco said, "All right, but say as little as possible."

Harry breathed out again and crammed the last bite of chocolate into his mouth, chewing it as Hermione and Ron discussed going to the Aurors and the Ministry to search for further useful information.

Then Hermione said, "Harry, I was hoping that you and Draco could try to alter the Mark. I brought several books from the Hogwarts library that might be useful, you can return them to me next time we meet."

Alter the Mark? That sounded hardly less of a challenge than getting rid of it altogether. But Hermione was throwing all of her effort into this, when it was Harry who had actually agreed to help to begin with. The least he could do was make the attempt.

Draco echoed his thoughts, saying, "I'm willing to give it a try, but don't expect much."

"It will give you both something positive to do, though, since you can hardly go talk to the Ministry," said Hermione.

"I _wish_ I knew what Dumbledore had in mind," Harry grumbled. "He said he could hide Draco and his parents as well, but how?"

"If he knew a way, we can figure one out too," said Hermione firmly. "It may not be exactly what he intended, but that doesn't matter. So don't worry," she smiled encouragingly at Draco, who was fiddling with a candy wrapper, tearing it into long precise strips.

"Not to change the subject, but I think we've talked all this out as much as we can for now, and I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm hungry," interjected Ron.

"So'm I," said Harry, standing and reaching a hand down to Draco to help him up. "All this research will take you two a few days, I expect, and to be on the safe side we'll have to keep moving in the meantime. Shall we pick a few more places to go and arrange when and where to meet, or use the old DA Galleons to let you know later?"

"I'd rather not fix our plans, myself," offered Draco, dusting himself off.

"If you don't ring them in advance you might not be able to get into a hostel in the town you want, though, it's the middle of summer and they're quite often full," Hermione warned.

"We can always Apparate somewhere else and try again," said Harry.

"That's true," she said. "It doesn't much matter to me. Ron?"

"Oh, I don't care," said Ron. "We can talk it over at dinner, Muggles won't think it odd if we're just talking about places to travel, will they? As long as we don't mention how."

Draco had finished brushing all the stray leaves and bits of grass from his jeans, Harry noticed. It was amazing how the other boy always seemed to look freshly pressed. Even when he had first found Harry, and had not bathed or changed in days, Draco had been tidier than Harry normally ever was. Why was he thinking about that? Harry wrenched his attention back to their present concerns.

"I saw a pub on the way," he said. "We could eat there. Not far at all, Ron."

They ate and talked more about what Harry and Draco should do, agreeing eventually that they would not set a schedule of places to go, but simply let Ron and Hermione know sometime on Tuesday where they would be the following night. Hermione thought five days would be enough to make a good start at finding things out at the Ministry and from the Aurors. Ron, who had pulled faces at the available drinks in the pub, offered to bring a few Butterbeers along the next time.

"If you can, that'd be great," said Harry, "but don't feel you have to, if it's not convenient. Do bring them in a carrier bag or something, I think Muggles would be quite surprised if they saw the bottles."

"Of course, Harry, I'm not an idiot," said Ron, looking annoyed.

"Sorry. I didn't mean you were, you know that," Harry said. Beside him Draco had drawn in a sharp breath, but said nothing.

"Okay. I'll bring some if I can," said Ron.

On the way back to the hostel, Harry asked, "If you two are staying here tonight, are you sharing our room, or what? Hermione, I thought you'd reserved a two-person room for us?"

"Yes, I had, but yes, we are," said Hermione, her face pink. "I had to do some very fast talking and perform a Memory Charm as well, because you weren't there to agree to sharing a four-person room, but that's what we'll be doing now."

Harry felt a little nervous about that. He had never actually shared a room with a girl before, and though he had now shared one with both Ron and Draco at different times, the idea of having those two both in one room with him, much less with Hermione as well, sounded potentially disastrous. Draco and Ron had apparently gotten on all right when going to buy the chocolate, true, but what if Draco let slip with something about blood traitors, or Mudbloods? Or Ron noticed the way that Draco had been looking at Harry the last couple of days? Somehow Hermione's having figured things out did not bother Harry as much as the thought that Ron might do so. But it could not be helped. And it did mean that Draco would not be able to pick up where they had left off last night, which was something of a relief. Harry had been ready to ignore what he knew he ought to do – that is, nothing – and having a day, or rather a night, free of that pressure was a good thing. Matters were complicated enough as it was.

Stealing a glance at Draco, Harry saw that he looked slightly disappointed to hear that the four of them would share, but he erased that expression from his face as soon as he noticed Harry looking at him.

In the room they were given, two beds stood to the left of the doorway, two to the right. Harry hung back to let Hermione choose first. She sat down on the first bed on the right-hand side, so Harry took the further one on the left, putting Ron across from Harry and Draco across from Hermione. That ought to work out all right, he thought.

Ron dropped his bag on his bed and disappeared down the corridor, muttering about finding the toilet. Harry poked through his rucksack, searching for his toothbrush. He glanced up to see Hermione looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face before she, too, went out the door. Which left Harry alone with Draco. Only for a minute or two, he told himself. Either of the others could return at any time.

"Harry?" Draco's voice was muffled by the shirt he was pulling over his head. Harry caught a glimpse of the taut skin of Draco's abdomen before the green fabric came down, and a memory surfaced of how it had felt to touch him there. No. Nothing like that could happen now, it was too risky... but he found himself taking the few steps across to Draco and putting his arms around him.

Draco stood stiffly in Harry's embrace, but only for an instant, then his hands crept around Harry's waist and he turned his head to lay it against Harry's shoulder.

"We can't," Draco said.

"I know," said Harry, yet as Draco let go he leaned forward, intending to kiss him on the cheek. Draco turned his head and Harry ended up kissing his ear instead.

They both laughed, awkwardly, and were still laughing when Ron came back into the room.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

Draco stopped laughing and edged towards the door, leaving Harry to answer as he slipped out.

"Oh, er... he was just telling me about a funny thing this morning in Brighton, when I was off getting our lunch," said Harry vaguely.

"Yeah? What was it?" said Ron.

"Just a Muggle family. The father had bought ice creams for everyone and was having trouble carrying them all. Draco said he imagined putting a Levitation Charm on them so they'd follow the family down the pavement, a row of ice creams bobbing along like ducklings after their mum. It was just a funny thought," Harry said.

Ron shook his head. "You're cracking up, mate, stuck alone with Draco all week." He pulled out a pair of threadbare orange pyjamas. "Watch outside the door a minute, will you, don't want Hermione walking in while I'm changing."

"Really?" said Harry wickedly. "I wouldn't have thought you'd mind, these days."

His face bright red, Ron said, "Go on, will you? I'll be quick."

So Harry stood outside the door until Ron stuck his head out to say he was finished, thanks, and Harry could go on to the toilet. Draco passed him along the way, with a smile and a conspiratorial wink, and then to his relief Harry saw Hermione emerging from the girls' bathroom. With her there it seemed less likely there would be any trouble between the other two; Draco had been more respectful of Hermione than of Ron, and Hermione had always been able to take care of herself.

When he got back he was the only one not changed for bed, and he made them all turn their backs while he did, although Draco only pretended to, turning back after a moment. Neither Ron nor Hermione could see him, and Harry could not do anything but glare without giving Draco away. He glared accordingly, but Draco made an impudent face at him and kept watching until Harry was through and told the others so.

Harry still needed to talk with Ron and Hermione about the Horcruxes, though, without Draco hearing. He had not come up with any way to be tactful about it, so he simply said, "Draco, the three of us have to discuss something without you for a little while."

"Should I leave?" Draco sounded half-resigned, half-angry.

"No, you don't have to." Harry went and sat on Hermione's bed, beckoning Ron over. "Hermione, I'm going to cast _Muffliato_, that'll let us talk without making Draco go out of the room," he muttered.

She looked surprised. "You're going to use one of the Half-Blood Prince's spells? Still?"

"What else can I do?" Harry replied. "Do you know something better?"

Hermione sighed. "If you must."

He cast the spell, noticing that Draco rubbed at his ears for a moment as it took effect.

"What's up, Harry?" asked Ron.

"The Horcruxes," said Harry. "Draco showing up interrupted my plans to start figuring out where they might be and searching for them. But I'll be traveling all over the country until we can discover another solution, or unless we decide it's not necessary, so I thought maybe I could search along the way, _if_ I told Draco what I was doing. Rather like you telling the Headmistress, Hermione, he's quick enough to realize that I'm up to something if I don't. And since his father is a Death Eater, he just might have some useful information. But Dumbledore warned me only ever to tell the two of you about all that, so... I wanted your opinions before I decided what to do."

All three of them looked over at Draco, who was toying idly with his wand, making a stray sock of Harry's drift through the air.

"I don't know," said Ron. "I talked with him a bit when we were off buying that chocolate, and first he insulted me, no surprise there, but then he apologized. I couldn't believe Malfoy was apologizing to me. Maybe that's a good sign, but d'you think it's enough to trust him with a secret like this one? Can you really be sure he won't go running off to You-Know-Who to say that you've learned about the Horcruxes? That bit of information might be valuable enough to trade for his life, even."

Ron had a point. Draco had come to Harry when he had no other resources, nowhere else to turn; would he pass up an opportunity like this, when it might save not only himself but perhaps his parents too? Harry wanted to think better of him, but was that only hope and wishful thinking, not calm good sense?

"What do you think, Hermione?" said Harry.

She had a strange expression on her face, and there was a pause before she said, "What?"

Harry repeated the question.

"Think? About what?" Hermione said vaguely.

"Think about telling Draco about the Horcruxes, what else?"

"Sorry, I just had an idea, but I need to ask Professor McGonagall about it first," said Hermione, shaking her head. "Yes, of course tell Draco."

"What?" Ron was indignant. "Why are you so sure he can be trusted?"

"I'm not, but Harry is, and it's up to him so he might as well," Hermione explained.

Harry thought this logic questionable, but it would undoubtedly be much easier to do what he had to do if he did not also have to hide it from Draco. He had no interest in waiting an unknowable length of time before he could search alone instead.

"All right, then. I'll tell him," said Harry, and performed the countercharm so that Draco could hear them again.

Before Harry could say a word, however, Draco had gotten up and come over to Hermione's bed, evidently realizing from the lack of buzzing in his ears that they had finished talking.

"I have something to say," he announced, "before you three do whatever it is you've decided. I know you don't entirely trust me," his eyes swept across them all and lingered on Ron the longest, "and I can understand that. But I thought of something I can do to overcome your preconceptions. Do any of you know how to act as Bonder for an Unbreakable Vow?"

Harry protested. There was no need for Draco to do this. But Draco was immovable in his intention, and eventually the two of them clasped hands, with Hermione holding her wand over them.

"I've read about how it's done," she said worriedly, "but never tried it, of course. I hope it works properly. All right, Draco, go ahead."

"I swear I will be loyal to you, Harry Potter, even... even above my own family. I swear I will not betray you to Voldemort or any Death Eater, or repeat to your harm anything you say. I swear I will do my best to help and protect you in any need."

With each of Draco's statements, a thin jet of red flame emerged from Hermione's wand and twined about their hands, until it appeared to be a braided rope binding them. Then it vanished.

"I don't feel any different," remarked Harry.

"You didn't take the vow," said Ron. "Why would you?" He paused, then added curiously, staring at Draco, who was swaying slightly where he stood, "_Does_ it feel different?"

"A little." Draco's voice sounded constricted. "Not in a bad way. So, er, what was it that you three were talking about, if I'm allowed to know now, that is?"

Harry explained about the Horcruxes, with Hermione and Ron adding a few remarks as well. It took them a good twenty minutes of talk before Draco said, "So you're not sure what all of them are, much less where, and yet your plan is to find and destroy them as quickly as possible, before You-Know-Who learns what you're doing. You're mad. Absolutely barking mad." But his tone had respect in it as well as disbelief, and Harry saw that he was smiling. "What can I do to help?"

"Think back, anything your father or any of his friends might ever have said that could tell us where Voldemort might have hidden the Horcruxes," said Harry, and counted them off on his fingers. "There's probably still four of them. Dumbledore thought it likely that Voldemort would have chosen items from the founders, we know that he stole a cup that was once Helga Hufflepuff's, for instance. And then he would have wanted things belonging to Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw, too, although who knows what those could be. The only two known Gryffindor relics were in Dumbledore's office, he couldn't've made those into Horcruxes. Plus there is Salazar Slytherin's locket, that R.A.B. took; we don't know for sure if that one was ever destroyed, or where it would be now any more than the other three. They're probably all fairly small and portable, if he was hiding them. If we had any ideas about where Voldemort liked to go, that would perhaps help us guess at possible hiding places."

"Nothing comes to mind, but I'll try and think and remember anything I can," Draco promised.

Just then they heard faintly through the walls the tolling of a bell – one stroke, two. It had not seemed so late to Harry.

"We really should get to sleep," said Hermione, yawning as if the very sound of the bell had reminded her that she was tired. "Ron and I should get going early; I can't do anything much at the Ministry on a Saturday, but he can perhaps start asking Aurors and I can talk with Professor McGonagall." She slipped out of bed, her light yellow nightgown falling to her knees, and switched out the light without waiting for anyone to respond.

Harry felt the coarse fabric of the pillow slip scratchy against his face as he wrapped his arms around the pillow. This whole day had gone rather better than he had anticipated. He could hear the steady breathing of the other three as they began to drift towards sleep, Hermione's the quietest, Ron's rasping into almost-snores, Draco's a nearly musical sound. Yes, Harry decided, telling Draco about the Horcruxes had been the right decision. He was glad to have had Ron and Hermione's advice before he told, though. After the Unbreakable Vow, Harry had no further distrust of Draco's intentions, but Dumbledore had been quite insistent that he share his information only with his two best friends, so telling Draco had felt something like betrayal, even if it was in furtherance of Dumbledore's own goals. But if he should succeed in finding and destroying them all, leaving Voldemort vulnerable – oh, then it would all have been worth it.


	14. In a Welsh Cave

**14. In a Welsh Cave**

Ron was the one who suggested that they had gone as far as they could go with talking, and perhaps finding some dinner ought to be a priority. It would be Ron. He was even taller and skinnier than Draco was these days, and looked as if he could eat an entire roasted Hippogriff without setting his fork down once. But everyone else agreed that they were hungry too, and it was time to go.

When Harry stood up, he reached down to take Draco's hand and help him up, too. Draco was surprised and touched by the gesture, which Harry made so casually that Draco did not think either Ron or Hermione had noticed it. He would have liked to keep hold of Harry's hand as they walked down to the pub, but he did not know how Harry would respond and did not want to risk a rejection. Harry had been quite clear that he was uninterested in having Draco for a boyfriend, after all.

Over dinner, the four of them discussed when and where they should next meet. Draco was reluctant to set a fixed schedule. It was not that he was apprehensive about Hermione or Ron turning up unexpectedly, he told himself, it was simply that he thought flexibility would be better. In case a Death Eater somehow found them, for instance. In the end he persuaded the three Gryffindors to see things his way, and they agreed to use the fake Galleon with a Protean Charm once again, on Tuesday. Ron and Hermione would meet Harry and Draco on Wednesday evening.

The least involved in the conversation was Ron, eating with great appetite. He wrinkled his nose at the lager that he tried, though, and suggested he might bring them some Butterbeers the next week. Harry said it was a great idea, but Ron should be sure to carry them concealed so that no Muggles would notice. Ron took offense at the implication that he would be so careless, and Harry apologized. Their interactions were so different from what Draco was accustomed to with his own friends that he was fascinated. Clearly Harry really cared about how Ron felt, even when it was over something unimportant. Draco would never have apologized to – for instance – Crabbe about such a thing. He wondered if someday Harry would act the same towards him.

Walking back to the hostel, Draco let himself fall a bit behind the others, listening to Harry and Hermione talk. She had managed, by dint of persuasion buttressed with a Memory Charm, to get the hostel staff to change the two-person room booked for Harry and Draco to a four-person room, so that they could all share. Inevitable perhaps, though Draco wished it had been otherwise. He tried to act pleased, however, when he saw Harry looking at him, and luckily it fell out that he would sleep next to Harry and across from Hermione, the best arrangement possible in the circumstances.

Ron and Hermione both went off to the bathrooms, and Draco decided to take advantage of their absence to change into the green shirt he had been wearing to sleep in. It was long enough to fall to mid-thigh, so he could keep wearing his jeans for the time being and slip out of them discreetly later. As he pulled the shirt on, he said, "Harry?" He meant to ask if Harry had any ideas about where to go the next day – not wanting the whole week planned out did not mean he wanted every decision to be last-minute – but before he could continue, Harry's arms were wrapped around him.

The move was so unanticipated that Draco froze momentarily before he returned Harry's embrace. "We really can't, though," he murmured into Harry's shoulder. Much as Draco wanted to hold Harry like this, he could not imagine how Ron, or worse, Hermione, might react if either of them should walk in just now.

"I know," said Harry. The regret in his voice made it easier for Draco to step away. As he did so, Harry leaned forward and kissed him on the edge of his ear. It felt most peculiar. Draco could not help but laugh, and Harry laughed too at the absurdity.

They were still chuckling when Ron opened the door, asking what was so funny. Draco decided to let Harry handle that one, and eased his way out into the corridor in search of the boys' toilets. Coming back again, he passed Harry, who now looked quite calm. He must have thought of something good to explain their laughter to Ron. Draco winked at him, returning to the room to find that Ron was wearing loud orange pyjamas, and Hermione a surprisingly revealing yellow nightgown. Draco had no interest whatsoever in her, of course, but he could not help noticing that she really had quite a good figure, better than Pansy Parkinson's. Ron must have thought so too, because his fact was pink and he was making a point of not looking at Hermione directly, although with Draco there he seemed to relax a bit. Now that he was in the room for the night, Draco took off his jeans, folded them, and put them next to his rucksack on the floor, ready for tomorrow.

Of all of them, only Harry had not yet changed for bed. When he returned seemed embarrassed about it, asking them to look away so he could. Draco was not going to miss such an opportunity. He watched Harry strip, only smiling when Harry glared at him, confident that Harry would not give them away by speaking.

His buoyant mood was deflated a moment later, though, when Harry said, "Draco, we three have to discuss something together, without you."

Well, he could have said so earlier. "Should I leave?" Draco began to reach for his folded jeans. He was not about to go wandering around the hostel in only a t-shirt and his underpants.

"No, you don't have to." Harry went to sit on Hermione's bed and whispered to her for a minute.

Suddenly Draco's ears were filled with a peculiar buzzing sound. He rubbed them, but it did not abate, and he realized that one of the three must have cast a charm so that he would be unable to hear their conversation. Ron was over there now as well. Draco pulled out his wand and idly began levitating one of Harry's socks. It was amazing how untidy Harry was; the sock had migrated over next to Draco's bed. He put the sock through its paces for a while, just as if he were back in Professor Flitwick's first-year Charms class. Being shut out like this annoyed him. For his entire life, Draco had been the one to decide who to let in on secrets and who to exclude. The reversal was most irritating. Could he prevent it from happening again? Not unless he could convince them, Hermione and Ron that was, to trust him, as Harry already appeared to, mostly. Draco thought. He would have to demonstrate somehow that he was trustworthy. Ron had been patently dubious about Draco's reassurances earlier, on their way back from the newsagent's. So how could Draco change their minds?

In a flash it came to him, clear and simple. An Unbreakable Vow. If he made one of those to Harry, the Gryffindors would have to believe he was telling the truth. Such a Vow could be dangerous, Draco knew, but he had been in danger for so long now that it seemed petty to mind hazarding a bit more. So when the buzzing in his ears stopped, before anyone else could speak, he said, "I've something to say before you three do anything else. I know you don't really trust me, but I can overcome that. Do any of you know how to act as the Bonder for an Unbreakable Vow?"

That was the tricky part. If none of them knew the spell, the idea would be unworkable, because Draco could hardly be his own Bonder. He hoped that if anyone else knew, it would be Hermione. He preferred to make the Vow to Harry. If only Harry knew how to cast the spell, though, Draco would have to make it to someone else instead.

Luck was with him. Hermione reluctantly admitted to knowing it, though she warned that she had never actually performed it before.

Draco stood in the middle of the crowded Muggle room, wearing only his t-shirt and underwear, holding the hand of an equally lightly clad, rumple-haired Harry Potter. Ludicrous, and yet it felt gloriously right. As Hermione's wand shot out streams of red flame that coiled and braided themselves around his and Harry's hands, he said, "I swear I will be loyal to you, Harry Potter, even," he swallowed hard, "even above my own family. I swear I will not betray you to Voldemort or any Death Eater, or repeat to your harm anything you say. I swear I will do my best to help and protect you in any need."

That last statement might have gone too far, Draco thought. Who defined "any need," when it came down to it? What if Harry decided he needed, oh, a packet of chocolate biscuits? Would Draco be obliged to get them for him? Or what if the need was for something far less innocuous? He shivered. The promises he had made to Lord Voldemort when he was sealed with the Dark Mark surged through his mind. But those were not made as Unbreakable Vows, he reminded himself. Draco was not foresworn to his death by this – he was already under that sentence, as far as Voldemort was concerned.

Ron was asking him, "Does it feel different?"

"A little," said Draco. "Not in a bad way." That was a half-truth. He could still sense the fiery chain of the bond around his wrist, not hurting, but there, reminding him of his oath. He knew that if he broke any part of the vow it would constrict, moving upward on his body until it wrapped around his neck and he died of it. To distract himself from the thought of something he never intended to let happen, he asked what the three of them had been talking about.

Horcruxes, they told him. Draco knew in a vague sort of way what Horcruxes were, and was horrified that evidently they were part of Voldemort's technique for obtaining immortality. Six Horcruxes? A soul split into seven parts? It was a frightening, even revolting, idea. And the Horcruxes could be anything, hidden anywhere, though Harry insisted that two had already been destroyed and that he planned to find and destroy the remainder so that Voldemort himself would be at last vulnerable to death.

It was impossible, foolish, and Draco made no bones about saying so. "You're mad. Absolutely barking mad." But this was Harry, who accomplished the seemingly impossible – and it could not all be due to luck as Professor Snape had said, oh no – Harry to whom Draco had just pledged himself, and so he said, "What can I do to help?"

Harry asked him to think about anything he might ever have heard or overheard from his father or the elder Malfoy's friends about places that Voldemort frequented, where he might possibly have hidden his Horcruxes. Draco could recall nothing useful immediately, but promised to search his memory.

By now it was very late. They all heard a distant bell toll twice, and Hermione got up to switch out the electric lights. She and Ron planned to leave early to start whatever investigations they could at the Ministry.

Draco found it difficult to get to sleep. He forced himself to lie still, breathing deeply and evenly, in the hope that sheer boredom would send him off, but his mind kept racing. Had it been right to make the Unbreakable Vow? Had it been wise? Probably not the latter. His father would disapprove, Draco was certain. Such an action was a commitment beyond that of Lucius Malfoy to Lord Voldemort – if he even felt that tie any more, after a year in Azkaban.

Aunt Bellatrix had remained loyal for more than a decade, but she was mad, Draco thought. She had visited his mother last summer. It was supposed to be secret, but he had found out and eavesdropped on the two sisters. Oh yes, definitely mad. No sane person had quite that restless energy, nor that frantic fixation on a single purpose. Whereas Draco's father was much more reasoned in his support. If Lord Voldemort came to power, the Malfoys could reap rich rewards as his supporters, but Lucius Malfoy had also been careful to maintain good relations with select and important Ministry of Magic officials, just in case.

Draco knew his father would expect him to act in similar fashion, but today's vow prevented that: he had committed himself irrevocably to help Harry, over his own family if need be. Not wise, no. His father's anger, his mother's disappointment, would be terrible when they learned of it, even though his purpose was to protect them, ultimately, as much as himself.

Until that could happen, what had he bound himself to? Could he think about breaking the Vow? Experimentally, Draco considered going back to Spinner's End, imagining himself speaking to Professor Snape about Harry and his search for the Horcruxes. His breath seemed to constrict, as if an invisible cord had tightened around his neck. Quickly he put the idea aside, thinking instead about how Harry and he had practiced their hexes and jinxes together, ready to use them against any Death Eater who might attack. The tightness in his throat eased immediately. It appeared that the Vow had worked, that Hermione had indeed cast it properly despite her misgivings.

So – he was to be loyal to Harry, now. The thought bothered him less than perhaps it should have done, shockingly un-Slytherin as it was. Instead it felt inevitable. Harry was as flawed, as human, as anyone else. These days in his company had taught Draco that, but Harry was nonetheless sincere in his wish to do right, and conviction carried its own strength and potency. Attaching himself to someone else's power, rather than the other way around, was for Draco a new experience, but perhaps this was what he had lacked and sought for all his time at Hogwarts – not to lead, but to be led, by someone he could trust and respect. And, Draco admitted most privately, by someone he fancied. Power and potency – the old Romans knew what they were about, with their word _potens_ meaning both those things. Come to think of it, taking the Unbreakable Vow had sealed him to Harry in ways stronger than a marriage. He wondered if Harry had realized the implications of what he had permitted Draco to do.

Three strokes of the bell. He would never get to sleep at this rate. Draco rearranged his pillow and tried once more to clear his mind. This time he at last succeeded in drifting off.

Morning came far too early for his taste, but he put on as cheerful a face as he could manage. Hermione and Ron decided to go back to the Weasleys' for breakfast.

"Mum'll be frantic to find out how you are, Harry. You know how she gets. If I'm lucky she'll cook a specially good breakfast just thinking about wanting to feed you up, so I'd better give her the chance to do it," Ron grinned.

"You _will_ let us know Tuesday where to meet the next evening, won't you?" said Hermione.

"'Course I will. Or actually Draco will, he's the one who can manage that charm better," Harry said, shoving the last of his things into his rucksack. "Don't worry about it. If you get really desperate about getting in touch before then, you could send Hedwig with a message, so long as you warned her to be careful about being seen."

Draco felt a glow of pleasure at Harry's compliment. He finished stowing his wand in his own pack and made one final sweep around the room to check for anything left behind. There seemed to be nothing, astonishingly enough, not even something of Harry's.

They left the hostel and stood awkwardly on the front lawn.

"Guess we should go. G'bye, Harry," Ron said. Hermione shifted her weight and must have nudged him, because he added, "G'bye, er, Draco."

"See you on Wednesday, and good luck with the Ministry and the Aurors, you two," said Draco.

"Goodbye, Harry, goodbye, Draco," Hermione said. "I hope those books I brought help you with the Mark."

"Yeah," said Harry, "we'll do what we can. See you in a few days then."

Ron and Hermione strolled around to the side of the building, where they could not be seen by any Muggles in the street, before Disapparating. Harry looked at Draco. "Ready for some breakfast?"

"Definitely," said Draco.

"I thought we could go find a café or something. We need to decide what to do today, and where to go." Harry slung his rucksack and sleeping bag over his shoulders. "Come on."

They found a cheap place – Draco conscious of the fact that although he could now pay his own way for a time, he did not have the kinds of funds Harry did. It was difficult to feel himself under obligation, even if Harry had been invariably gracious about it. Draco had never before had to worry about money. His parents had always been generous with pocket money, and at Hogwarts there was not much to spend it on, the occasional trip to Hogsmeade excepted. Oh, he could have sent away for things through the Owl Post if he had wanted, but it never seemed necessary. Draco hated clutter in his dormitory: he had to yell at Crabbe and Goyle all the time to keep their part of the room tidy as it was. No point in adding to it himself. So what with one thing and another, Draco had accumulated a fair pile of unspent Galleons in his chest back at Hogwarts, left behind of course on the night he fled, and now quite unobtainable. Unless...

"Hey, Harry." Draco poked at a sausage with the edge of his fork, watching it roll into the beans. "If Hermione is going to tell Professor McGonagall about me, how do you think she'll react?"

Harry finished chewing a bite of toast and swallowed. "She doesn't tend to get overly upset about things, and it'll be Hermione telling her, she likes Hermione. All the teachers know you weren't the one who," he paused and looked around the crowded room, "well, you know, they know that Snape did it, because I saw and told them. So I _think_ she'll be reasonable. Why?"

"Well, I left everything behind that night. Clothes. Money. All that. So it occurred to me that maybe there'd be some way to get it, now. Have the house-elves pack up a few things, and perhaps Hermione would be willing to bring them," said Draco.

"Hermione ask the house-elves? Hah," said Harry sourly, keeping his voice low to prevent being overheard. "Don't you remember S.P.E.W.? The Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare that she founded in fourth year? I thought she'd gone after the Slytherins along with everyone else to join. She thinks house-elves are terribly mistreated and overworked. But hang on a minute, I have an idea. Or – no," he said. "I forgot that Hogwarts is closed down over the summer, it's only with special permission that Hermione is getting in to use the library."

"What were you thinking?" asked Draco, stirring sugar into his tea.

"There's a house-elf there that likes you, but has to take orders from me," said Harry. At Draco's stare, he added, "I'll explain about that later sometime. But he'd be delighted to get anything of yours you wanted, I'm sure, if we can just figure out how to get a message to him."

"It's not _that_ urgent. I can wait till we see Hermione on Wednesday anyhow," Draco said. He was astounded to hear that Harry somehow owned a house-elf. Did he own a house, then? How? Where? Since when?

They finished their breakfasts and left, wandering aimlessly as they talked.

"Any ideas about where to go today?" Harry asked.

Draco shrugged. "We went to the best place I know of already. There's a couple of other possibilities, though, how about somewhere in Wales?"

"That sounds good," agreed Harry, "if it's not in a town. I don't think we want to work on altering the Mark where any Muggles might come by unexpectedly."

"No, the place I have in mind is remote," said Draco. "My father took me there once. I'm fairly sure I can find it again." He thought it over and decided he had better explain. "He was looking at it as a possible place to conceal some things, you understand, Dark Arts stuff. There's a kind of a cave. But he decided it wasn't secure enough."

"As long as you can get us there," said Harry.

They had drifted down a side street in their walking. Draco looked around and saw no one in sight, so he took Harry's hand and Apparated them to the mountain side he remembered.

It was misty, and colder than Draco had expected. He pulled out one of Mr. Granger's long-sleeved shirts and put it on over his t-shirt. Harry was doing the same, hauling out a jumper for himself.

"We should Scourgify our clothes tonight," said Draco, looking at the sleeve of Harry's jumper. It bore a stain that resembled dried blood, but was probably just tomato sauce.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Did you say there was a cave here?"

"Up there," pointed Draco. "But there aren't any paths nearby for Muggles to get here, so I shouldn't think we need to go sit in the cave. There's nothing there."

"How'd your father know about it?"

"I've no idea," said Draco. "He didn't end up leaving anything in the cave, though, I told you."

"Yeah, but it's just possible Voldemort knew of it. I want to look and see. Not that I think it's a likely hiding spot for a Horcrux, but just on the chance," Harry said, turning and walking up through the trees.

Draco followed. The opening into the hillside was narrower than he had recalled, and the wind had half-blocked it with piled debris. Harry went in first, holding his wand up and muttering the _Lumos_ charm to let them see.

As Draco expected, there was nothing _to_ see. A small cave, with irregular rocky walls and a floor of wind-blown dirt, scattered with leaves and twigs and a few gnawed bones. Perhaps a fox or a feral dog had used it as a den sometime, but it seemed unoccupied now.

Harry was standing in the center of the space, his eyes closed, looking disappointed.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked.

Slowly Harry opened his eyes. "Dumbledore could tell if there were traces of magic lingering in a place. I just thought I'd see if I could sense any. Can you?"

This was a skill Draco had never attempted. He shut his eyes and concentrated, not sure how it worked or what he expected, but nothing intruded itself on his notice.

"I don't think so," he said. "Have you ever felt magic traces anywhere else?"

"No," admitted Harry. "I suppose it takes practice. I wonder if it would be part of Auror training, seems like it would be useful for them."

"It would," Draco agreed. "But if there's anything here, neither you nor I can tell. Shall we go back outside?" The closeness of the cave walls was making him feel ill at ease.

At least it was not raining, grey and misty though the morning was. Harry fished out one of the books that Hermione had given him, _Trials and Transfigurations_, and sat down cross-legged with it on his lap. Draco dropped to the ground next to Harry and looked over his shoulder.

"Don't do that," said Harry. "Please."

"All right, give me the book and _you_ look over _my_ shoulder," said Draco, taking it, "because it doesn't bother me." He flipped to the table of contents. "Chapter five, maybe? 'Partial Transfiguration'?"

They read at nearly the same speed, Draco discovered, or else Harry was being terribly polite and careful not to ask to have a page turned before Draco was ready. Though Draco _was_ perhaps slower than usual, given that he kept being distracted by Harry's shoulder brushing his own, or Harry's breath on his cheek, smelling faintly of tomato and sausage still.

This was a type of Transfiguration that they had not yet studied in the N.E.W.T. class, and the principles were quite complex.

"I'm not sure I understand this bit," said Harry, pointing at a section labeled 'Controlling the Osmotic Tendency.' "Do you?"

"No," Draco said, rubbing his temples. "Maybe we should take a break for a while. You can tell me about this mysterious house-elf at Hogwarts that has to take your orders." He half-expected the elf in question to be Dobby, his own family's former servant, since he knew that it was Harry's fault that Dobby had been freed.

So it was a surprise to Draco when Harry said, "Kreacher belonged to the Black family."

"The Blacks?" Draco put the book down and scooted around to face Harry. "What does my mother's family have to do with you?"

"Sirius Black was my godfather," said Harry. Draco saw his throat work. "When he died, there were no more heirs in the direct male line, and he willed the family house to me. Kreacher came along with it, much to his disgust, but he's bound to obey me. He's been at Hogwarts for the past year though. There were... reasons why it seemed better not to leave him on his own at the Black house, but it's complicated and we needn't go into that at present." Harry's lips twitched. "Actually, he'd probably be delighted to do anything if _you_ asked it, if he didn't realize that you were a blood traitor now too. He thought he should have passed to your mother's branch of the family."

Blood traitor? Draco had not thought about his actions in those terms, but he supposed it was accurate enough. Uncomfortably, he said, "Still the same problem with getting to him to give an order, though, since we can't actually get into Hogwarts right now."

Harry nodded. "I don't really trust Kreacher, but if we were able to get him to believe you were giving me orders, he'd be so happy that it would probably be all right. I'd ask Dobby to keep an eye on him, too, as a safeguard."

"Dobby?" So Harry did have some kind of contact with the former Malfoy house-elf.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Look, your father was really mistreating him, and he was trying to save my life... so when I had a chance, I made sure he got free, as that's what he wanted. He's been at Hogwarts ever since."

Draco remembered several occasions when he had been less than kind to Dobby himself, although he had never actively tormented the house-elf. Still, he doubted that Dobby would recall him with affection. "If we ever do get the chance to go to Hogwarts, you'd better talk to Dobby alone, and let me handle Kreacher," he said.

"That's what I thought," said Harry. He pushed up his glasses, slipping as always crookedly down his nose. "Want to try again with the Transfiguration book?"

"I'd rather not," said Draco truthfully, "but we ought to. It must be nearly lunchtime though?"

"Past it," Harry said, looking at his watch. "But I was thinking that it would make more sense to stay here till late afternoon, and then go find someplace to stay and have an early dinner, than to leave now, have lunch, come back... you know?"

"All right. Back to the Transfiguration. Maybe we should look at one of the other books for a change, see if it's clearer," said Draco.

"How about _Tricky Transfigurations_?" said Harry, pulling out a fat blue volume and handing it over.

They read until after four o'clock, occasionally pausing to discuss one of the more difficult sections of the book, which did indeed prove less confusing than the first one, if not precisely simple to follow. Draco was still unconvinced that they would succeed in altering the Mark, given that his father had never managed it. But once they understood more thoroughly how they might attempt it, he was willing to give it a try. Now, however, he was famished and more than ready to go to Bangor when Harry suggested they had studied enough for the day.


	15. Back to the Cave

**15. Back to the Cave**

As she so often did, Hermione was fussing. "You _will_ let us know on Tuesday where to meet you the next evening?"

Repressing a sigh, Harry answered, "Of course I will, or actually Draco will since he's better at the charm. If you have to get in touch before then, you can send Hedwig, but warn her to be careful."

Ron looked eager to leave Bath. He and Hermione were first stopping at the Weasleys' for breakfast, and then going on to see if they could find some of the Aurors who were members of the Order of the Phoenix, to ask what they knew of the Dark Mark. Harry was envious that Ron would get to do that. They both hoped to become Aurors someday, after all, but Ron got to have the fun while Harry was going to be stuck for days trying to figure out how to alter the Mark on Draco's arm, with little information and less hope of success. But it could not be helped. When the other two had made their farewells and gone, Harry asked Draco, "Ready for some breakfast? We can go find a café and decide what to do today, where to go."

There were several places nearby that looked to be reasonable possibilities. Harry chose the one that was most crowded, figuring that meant it was good, cheap, or both. They had to wait a few minutes for a table, but as they were in no rush that did not matter. Most of the other customers seemed to be local Muggles, but there were a few student types as well, so they blended in well. It was noisy enough too that if they spoke quietly, no one would be able to overhear anything odd. Harry considered what a Muggle might make of various wizarding terms, and shuddered.

Draco was fidgeting with his flatware. "If Hermione tells Professor McGonagall about me, how do you think she'll react?" he asked.

Harry reminded him that the Headmistress knew that it was Snape who had been responsible for Dumbledore's death, not Draco, and that she was a reasonable person, unlikely to do anything impulsive or in anger. "Why are you worried, anyhow?"

"I left everything behind that night – clothes, money, all of it. It occurred to me that maybe now I could have the house-elves pack up some things for me, if Hermione would be willing to bring them," Draco said.

That idea made Harry snort with laughter, thinking of Hermione asking a house-elf to do extra work, or any work for that matter. He reminded Draco of her opinions, but then it struck him that he could tell Kreacher to collect Draco's belongings, if only there were some way to contact the elf – which seemed impossible, since Hogwarts was closed for the summer. Harry explained this, without telling Draco how he happened to own a house-elf. It was too painful a story for Harry to want to recount it in public, overheard or not.

"It's not _that_ urgent," said Draco. "I can wait till we see Hermione on Wednesday."

After they had finished eating – Draco insisted on paying exactly half, though his meal had been slightly cheaper – Harry asked if Draco had any ideas about where to go. Draco suggested a place in Wales, near a cave to which his father had once taken him. He assured Harry that Lucius Malfoy had not, in the end, used the cave to store anything connected with the Dark Arts, and Harry agreed that it sounded like a suitable location for their purposes.

Since Harry did not know where it was, Draco had to take Harry's hand in order to Apparate there together. Harry noticed that Draco's fingers were warm against his own, and he thought he could feel Draco's pulse beating, although he could not be sure since his own heart was pounding harder than usual. Then Draco Apparated them into a cool grey mist. It was chilly enough that Harry put on his jumper, and Draco likewise pulled out one of the shirts Mr. Granger had lent him. Draco was staring at him, and Harry looked down to see a messy splotch of tomato that spread across one sleeve.

"We should Scourgify our clothes tonight," said Draco.

True, and in fact more necessary for Draco, who had few clothes to begin with, to do it than for Harry, yet Harry felt obscurely rebuked. Wanting to change the subject, he said, "Did you say there was a cave?" He wondered if perhaps the elder Malfoy had learned of this location from Voldemort, or vice versa. It was worth a look to see if there was something there, though it seemed an unlikely spot to hide a Horcrux.

But it appeared to be just an ordinary cave when they reached it, with dirt and debris blown into the corners. Harry shut his eyes and tried to sense any traces of magic, as Dumbledore had been able to do, but without success. Draco had equally little knowledge of that trick, and so they went back outside where the light was better to begin studying the books Hermione had pressed upon Harry. On his way out, Harry touched the walls in a friendly fashion. With no feeling that there was any Dark magic present, he decided that he rather liked the place. It reminded him somehow of the cupboard under the stairs where the Dursleys had made him sleep for years. That had been tiny and dark but also familiar, his own space. Though he had never seen the cave before, it felt equally comfortable to him.

_Trials and Transfigurations_, the first book they looked at, was a hard slog to get through. Harry found himself rereading every paragraph twice or more. Draco did not seem to understand the text any better or more quickly, though, since he never turned a page before Harry was finished with it. That was reassuring. Despite having managed to get an E in his O.W.L., Harry was well aware that Transfiguration was not his best subject. He had thought Draco might be better at it than he was, but evidently not; not when it came to theory, anyhow.

Eventually Draco yawned and suggested they should take a break, asking Harry to tell him just how Harry happened to have a house-elf at Hogwarts.

It was inevitable that he should ask, Harry supposed. So even though he felt distressed about explaining, he said, "Kreacher belonged to the Black family."

Draco looked confused. "To the Blacks? My mother's family? What have they to do with you?"

"Sirius Black was my godfather," said Harry, swallowing hard against the lump that threatened to fill his throat. He was surprised that Draco had never picked up that piece of gossip from his parents, but perhaps it had not been widely known. Or possibly Sirius's cousin Narcissa, like his mother, had been so disgusted with his choice of allegiance that she no longer spoke of him. "When he died, since there were no more direct male heirs, he willed the family house to me, and Kreacher with it, over Kreacher's objections."

Harry decided not to tell how the Order of the Phoenix had used the Black house as a headquarters, and why he had decided Kreacher should not stay there. He trusted Draco, but it would be too long and complicated to go into all that at the moment.

"Actually," Harry realized with a flash of bitter amusement, "Kreacher would probably be delighted to do anything that _you_ asked him to do, Draco, because he thought he ought to go to your mother's branch of the family, and he doesn't know you're a blood traitor now too."

Draco's expression grew wary, then blank. Harry supposed that it was the phrase "blood traitor" that bothered him, but what else could Harry have said? It was true.

"It doesn't much matter," Draco said, "since we still can't get into Hogwarts right now to give him an order."

"Right. Although if we did, well, I don't really trust Kreacher, but if he believed _you_ were giving _me_ orders, and were in charge, he'd be so happy I think it'd be safe. I'd ask Dobby to keep an eye on him too," Harry finished before realizing that mentioning Dobby to Draco might not be the most tactful thing to do. It had been Harry who had tricked Lucius Malfoy into freeing Dobby, after all. Hastily he explained that he had done so because Dobby had helped save his life, and had been desperate for freedom from the mistreatment he had suffered from Draco's father.

Only after he had said so did it occur to Harry that that statement was even less tactful, and he wanted to sink into the ground. What was the matter with him today? Draco took no evident offense, however, simply saying, "If we ever do get to Hogwarts, you talk to Dobby and let me handle Kreacher."

"That's what I thought," agreed Harry, relieved that Draco was not annoyed. "Shall we get back to reading the book? I was thinking that if we worked through without breaking off for lunch, we could stop earlier and then go find someplace to stay, have an early dinner."

Draco was willing to do so, although he wanted to try one of the other books for a change. Harry had no problem with seeing if another one might be more understandable, and handed him _Tricky Transfigurations_. For several more hours they read together, discussing some of the more difficult concepts as they went. Harry believed that they should try something less dangerous before trying to alter the Mark itself, but he was not sure where would be a good place to start. Maybe another day's studying would give him some ideas. For now, his head felt so stuffed with the principles behind partial Transfiguration that he could not even collect his thoughts sufficiently to ask Draco's opinion on the matter. When Draco chose to go to Bangor for that night's stay, Harry was happy to agree.

They reached the city without incident, and Harry thumbed through the guide to see where the hostel was located. By sheer luck it was close by, only a few streets away. Luck, however, proved fickle.

"Sorry, lads." The young woman's face, under curly red hair nearly as bright as Ginny's, bore a genuinely regretful expression. "We're full up tonight."

"Oh. Thanks anyhow," said Harry automatically, retreating out of the door with Draco close behind him. He turned and said, "Now what shall we do?"

"Well, I'm sure there must be other places to stay here, it's not like it's only a village," said Draco.

"A pub like where we stayed in Godric's Hollow, or a B&B maybe. Sure," said Harry. "Bed and breakfast," he elucidated when Draco arched an inquiring eyebrow. "But I'll warn you that they might be more dear that either of us would like. That's the great advantage of hostels, you see, the price is usually about as low as one can find."

"Oh," Draco's face fell.

Harry understood very well that money was a concern for the other boy, until and unless he was able to get at whatever he had left at Hogwarts. Harry was perfectly able and willing to pay for Draco's share of expenses if necessary, but he respected Draco's wish to pay his own way. "We could go to some other town entirely and see if we have better luck at a hostel elsewhere. Or... we _could_ go back and sleep in that cave."

"The cave?"

"Sure. We have our sleeping bags, we could make a fire, it's July. Even in the mountains we'd be fine," Harry said. "Eat dinner somewhere here first, of course, but it'll be light for hours yet."

Draco gave Harry a funny look. "You want to sleep out in that cave, in all that dirt?"

"We don't have to do it if you don't want to," said Harry patiently. "It's just an idea. Plenty of time to try another town if you'd rather."

"I suppose getting rid of the dirt wouldn't be hard. Maybe Transfigure something into a mattress, too," said Draco, his expression thoughtful. "I've never done anything like this before. It seems odd to me to want to spend the night in a cave, but why not?"

"Let's do it, then," Harry said, hoisting his rucksack up onto his back. "I've never really camped out like a Muggle either. At the Quidditch World Cup, the tents Mr. Weasley borrowed for us to use had bunk beds in them."

"My family's tent is rather nicer than that," said Draco, but his voice was more wistful than arrogant. "I suppose you and Ron shared a double bunk?"

"Yeah, we did. It was a lot of fun. Watching Mr. Weasley try to light a fire with matches as Muggles do – he was hopeless." Harry chuckled at the recollection, but he remembered, too, after Ireland's win, the Dark Mark glowing in the sky that night. He was surer now than ever that Draco's father had been one of those mistreating the Muggle family that managed the campsite, even if it had been Barty Crouch who had cast the Mark.

"It sounds much more exciting to have been there with friends. I was there with my parents. Oh, of course you know that, you were in the Top Box as well, I remember." Draco looked embarrassed, and Harry wondered if he was also thinking of his father's actions, or just of the insulting things he had said to the Weasleys that day.

"Ron and I stayed up for ages, and the other Weasleys too, talking over the match. We could do that tonight if you liked. Stay up and talk that is," Harry said, feeling unaccountably nervous as he spoke. This was Draco, who had only yesterday sworn an Unbreakable Vow of loyalty to Harry. What was there to fear from Draco?

"I'd enjoy that," said Draco. "But I'd enjoy more getting something to eat, soonish, or the only sound you'll hear from me tonight is my stomach rumbling."

Harry laughed. "Same here, I admit. Fish and chips sound all right to you?"

Having missed lunch, they each bought the largest portion of fish along with a great mound of chips. Harry doused his plate enthusiastically from the vinegar cruet, but Draco shook his head.

"I know, queer of me, but I prefer mine with just a sprinkling of salt, no vinegar," he explained.

"Boring," said Harry, pinching one of Draco's chips and popping it in his mouth. "But it's your tongue."

Draco picked up another chip and nibbled at it, licking the salt and grease deliberately off his fingers afterward. His tongue was rosy against his pale skin. Harry recognized that he was staring and quickly looked down, breaking off a piece of hot fish and eating it before glancing back at Draco. The other boy's eyes were fixed on Harry as he again lifted a chip to his mouth, with a half-challenging, half-quizzical expression on his face. Draco was flirting, Harry suddenly realized, and the thought made him blush. He took another large bite of his cod so that the heat in his face might be attributed to the temperature of the food, but a bit of the crispy batter went down his windpipe and he started coughing.

"You all right, Harry?" Draco got up to pound Harry on the back.

The offending crumb dislodged. Harry said, "Thanks, yeah. Fish in my throat," and then felt like a complete prat. Obviously he had had fish in his throat, no need to say so.

But as before, Draco did not seem to have noticed that Harry had said anything idiotic. "No trouble." He sat down again to eat his own dinner.

When every last chip had been eaten, Harry said, "Shall we get something else for later? I don't want anything more now, but if we stay up to talk I know I'll be hungry again."

So they bought sandwiches and crisps and a couple of chocolate bars, and were looking for a suitably deserted spot from which they could Disapparate without being noticed, when Draco nudged Harry's arm and pointed at an off-licence.

"Something to drink? Isn't that a shop where Muggles sell alcohol?"

Remembering what had happened in Bristol three nights before, Harry was torn. It would probably be fun, and since past experience suggested that Draco would probably be affected more than Harry, he was not too concerned about being embarrassed if he were to get really drunk. Although he did not intend to do so, who knew what might happen? He especially did not want things to get out of hand, and he suspected that might be Draco's intention, whether or not Draco would admit it.

"Come on, Harry, why not?"

Unable to come up with a plausible excuse in time, Harry let Draco lead him into the shop. The array of bottles on the shelves was bewildering, but Draco took over, smoothly asking the clerk what wine he would recommend for someone on a modest budget. They emerged with several bottles of a red Spanish wine and a corkscrew.

"Wine? Why not lager or ale or something like that?" asked Harry as soon as they were outside.

Draco shrugged. "I like wine. It tastes good, better than lager, and it doesn't run through the system like lager does."

"If you say so," said Harry. "You do realize we haven't any glasses to drink it from?"

"Do you have a problem drinking from a bottle?" said Draco.

"I thought _you_ would," said Harry. "Rather low-brow for a Malfoy, isn't it?"

For an instant Draco looked angry, but then he laughed. "We're going off to sleep in a filthy cave, and you're worried about having the proper wine glasses?"

"Yeah, okay," said Harry, laughing as well. But he was still a bit concerned. Drinking from the bottle – it would be easy to drink more than he meant to, that way. He would want to be careful.

They Apparated back to the cave. The sun had dropped behind the mountains and the shadows grew long, but it would not be fully dark for an hour or more yet. Inside the cave, however, it was dim even though the mouth of it faced westward. Harry decided that their first priority must be the fire, which would be far more convenient for seeing than having to hold up a wand and use a _Lumos_ spell as they had done that morning. Soon flickering blue light suffused the cave, and Harry mentally thanked Hermione for having learned that spell and taught it to him and Ron back in their first year at Hogwarts.

Draco was considering the layout of the cave. "The floor is smoothest over here," he said. "Let me just..." he pointed his wand and muttered, and all the dirt, leaves, and other debris gathered itself up into a ball and rolled outside. "It'll still be awfully hard and uncomfortable to sleep on the rock, but at any rate we won't get dirty," Draco said with satisfaction.

"Maybe a Cushioning Charm to soften things up?" Harry suggested.

"Like on a broomstick, you mean? That's a good idea, but I'm not sure I can do one large enough to cover the whole of a sleeping bag," said Draco. "Can you?"

"Won't know till I try," said Harry. He pulled out his wand. "_Creopulvinus_," he cast the spell, then felt around on the floor to see how it had worked. "A bit thin, but I think it'll be all right," he told Draco, spreading out his sleeping bag over the spot. "Give it a go."

When he was concentrating hard, Draco bit down on the left side of his lower lip, Harry observed. It gave him a rather fetching pout. Pulling his eyes away, Harry noticed the stain on his jumper that Draco had pointed out that morning. "_Scourgify_." The tomato sauce vanished, and Harry smiled. He glanced around. They had spread out their sleeping bags in a V, with their heads together and the magical fire in the space between their feet. The bottles of wine and the food they had brought were piled up tidily against the wall, along with their rucksacks. He was not quite ready to settle in for the night, though.

"Shall we go outside till it's dark?" he suggested.

A large flattened boulder made a convenient if somewhat bumpy seat a few dozen yards above the entrance to the cave. The hillside was quite steep, and no large trees grew here to block their view across the valley. Harry and Draco sat, not quite touching, and talked.

"This would be a great place to fly," said Harry, waving his hand at the trees below. "Challenging."

"Yeah. I've missed flying these last few weeks," Draco said. "No broom, for one thing, and it wouldn't've been safe to do it if I had had the old Nimbus 2001 with me anyhow."

"I suppose not," Harry said. "Even if we do figure out some way to hide you effectively, it's a safe guess you still won't be able to fly."

"No."

The light was fading more quickly now, with just the edges of the peaks across the valley lit in gold and scarlet. Harry glanced out of the corner of his eye at Draco. The other boy was sitting with his knees drawn up, chin resting on them, arms wrapped tightly around his shins. Tentatively, Harry reached out to touch him on the shoulder, but his motion was arrested when he saw something moving across the sky.

"Draco, look there!"

"What? Where?"

"There, see?" Harry pointed with a trembling hand. It was unmistakably a dragon, a Welsh Green Harry supposed, though in this light it was impossible to see any distinctive characteristics. To his relief the dragon was not heading in their direction, but merely flying along the length of the opposite ridge from south to north. When it had passed from sight, Harry sighed.

"Hagrid would've loved to see that."

Beside him Draco snorted.

"Look, I know you don't like him because he's a half-giant, but Hagrid's a friend of mine," said Harry defensively. "There's nothing wrong with him, and it was really uncalled-for when you tried to get him dismissed."

"Harry..." Draco began, stopped, shook his head, and began again. "Leaving aside the point that he's half-giant and giants as a rule are not exactly an estimable bunch, Hagrid may be a fine gamekeeper but he is a wretched teacher. It doesn't matter to me what he's like as a person, but I hardly learned anything about Care of Magical Creatures from him. His idea of a good lesson is liable to result in bodily harm to half the students in the class. So when I had an opportunity to try to get him removed and someone better in as a professor, of course I took it. I wanted to pass my O.W.L. and with him teaching it didn't seem very likely."

"That's not true," said Harry heatedly. "Hagrid's a great teacher. I learned loads from him, we all did, his classes were brilliant."

Draco looked at him as though he had sprouted purple feathers from his ears. "That's why you went on for a N.E.W.T. in the subject, right? Along with everyone else in our year?"

"Well..." Harry recalled some of Hagrid's choices for lessons, the Blast-Ended Skrewts in particular. "Okay, okay, so he's not the best teacher in the school, but he is a good person. He gave me a photo album at the end of first year, with pictures of my parents and their friends. Until he did that I didn't even know what they looked like. My aunt had no pictures; she couldn't stand her sister, was envious because my mum was a witch and got all the attention from their parents, I think. Hagrid's done a lot for me over the years."

"I'm not saying he hasn't, or that you haven't cause to like him yourself," said Draco. "All I've said was that he's not a good teacher, and really, that's undeniable. And I'm sure he would've liked to have seen that dragon tonight, but I'll tell you it's not my idea of a good time to find out without warning that I'm in a dragon's territory. I think maybe we'd better go back inside the cave, it's nearly dark anyhow."

"It was probably going back to its den for the night. The Welsh Green isn't nocturnal," said Harry, but he agreed with Draco. Best to go in.

The magical fire was still burning happily blue. Draco picked up one of the bottles of wine and the corkscrew and sat on his sleeping bag, looking puzzled. "D'you know how to work this thing?"

"Screw the twisty part down into the cork – no, take the foil off the top of the bottle first – then lever the cork out," said Harry, who had had plenty of practice opening bottles for his Uncle Vernon. He was surprised that Draco did not know some magical way to remove a cork, but maybe Draco had some reason for doing it the Muggle way.

With a certain amount of fumbling, Draco managed to extract the cork without breaking it. He raised the bottle to his lips and swallowed. Harry saw a red droplet clinging to the corner of Draco's mouth, swept up by his tongue as the bottle came down. Draco passed it to Harry. "Have some."

Harry lifted, drank. The wine tasted full and rich, making him think of plums warmed by the sun. Draco was right, this was better than beer would have been. He handed the bottle back and lay down on his sleeping bag, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Why don't you like girls, Draco?"

He had not meant to say that, not at all. And he could not blame a single swallow – all right, two – of wine for the way that the words had tumbled out of his mouth. Harry's stomach clenched with shame.

Over the neck of the wine bottle poised before his mouth, Draco's eyes glinted. He lowered the bottle and brushed back some strands of loose fair hair that clung to his cheek. "I'm sorry?"

Maybe Draco had not heard the stupid question clearly? But as Harry cast about for something to say to salvage the situation, Draco repeated, "Why don't I like girls?" and began to laugh.

"Er, yeah," said Harry weakly, and sat up, cross-legged, his shoulders hunched.

"I do like girls. Some of them, anyway. I just don't fancy them," said Draco, still grinning. "Why is this suddenly a burning question?"

"I, well..." said Harry, and in desperation took the bottle back from Draco for another swig, hoping that the interval might give him some idea of what to say, but nothing occurred to him and he had to put the bottle down on the floor before he choked.

Draco's head was tilted to one side, his expression intent. "You want to know if I'm really queer, and how I figured it out, because you don't know what you're feeling, and you're muddled about whether maybe you prefer blokes too and just never realized it before."

Draco made the statements straightforwardly, and Harry could only nod yes. A week ago he would have said without equivocation that he was in love with Ginny Weasley, that he had broken up with her solely because he thought it was the best thing he could do to try to save her life, and that it was impossible that he would seriously consider a relationship with anyone else. The only times he had ever messed about with another boy it was Ron, and that was mostly so that neither of them would feel completely unpracticed when they finally started going out regularly with girls. But now, now he was traveling alone with Draco Malfoy, and they had spent a fair amount of time kissing, and Harry had enjoyed it all rather more than made him comfortable.

"Yeah," Harry cleared his throat, "yeah, that's basically it."

"I've always known," said Draco thoughtfully, but he was studying the label on the wine bottle, not looking at Harry. "I mean... when everyone in my dormitory talked about which girls they fancied, who was best-looking and they'd like to shag if they had a chance... none of the girls ever got me hot, thinking about them. Well, that's not _quite_ true. But never anywhere near as much as when I thought about... certain blokes. So it would've been pretty tough to _not_ have an idea. I did snog a couple of girls, eventually, I told you that before, but it didn't do anything much for me. But when this one bloke, ah, well, shall we say that when he made a move on me, it all became very clear. He and I had some good times, even though there was never anything serious between us."

Harry wondered who it was that Draco had done all this fooling around with. Another Slytherin, he supposed, but he forbade himself to ask. "So then it didn't seem strange to you to be turned on by another bloke," said Harry.

"No," said Draco, "it seemed natural." He leaned forward, and now he _was_ looking straight at Harry. The light of the fire turned his grey eyes to blue as Harry looked back at him. "Are you saying that _I_ turn you on, Harry?" Draco sounded almost shy, and it gave Harry courage.

"Yes." That was the truth, but so was the rest of what he made himself say. "But I'm still not sure that I like you enough to go very far with it. Not that I don't trust you, now, but I don't _know_ you. I mean, I've known Ginny for ages, and we didn't even..." Harry gulped and shut his mouth. It was none of Draco's business what Ginny and Harry had or had not done.

Draco put a hand on Harry's knee, and Harry almost jumped out of his skin. "I swore, yesterday, that I'd be loyal to you, help you in any need, right?"

"Right," Harry said.

"So what if this is what you _need_, now?" Draco's smile was pure temptation, and his fingers inched up Harry's thigh. "It doesn't have to mean anything you don't want it to mean."

Harry decided that Draco was right. He might be saying it for his own advantage, but that did not change the facts. Whatever Harry felt for Draco, and those feelings were too complicated to sort out easily, it did not change his sentiments towards Ginny. The two emotions were entirely separate. And unless Hermione said something to Ginny, which Harry trusted her not to do, it was not as if Ginny could learn about or be hurt by anything Harry might choose to do with Draco tonight. Or on other nights. Not stopping to let himself think about it any longer, he put his hand over Draco's.

"No, it needn't mean anything," Harry agreed, bringing their linked hands back towards his waist, which pulled Draco off-balance and nearly tumbled him into Harry's lap before he untangled himself and crawled forward to push Harry back onto his sleeping bag.

"So where were we before we were interrupted the other night?" Draco murmured, his hands busy pushing up Harry's shirt. "About here, I think," and Harry gasped at the sudden wet suction on his right nipple. Draco was lying between Harry's legs, his stomach resting on Harry's groin, and Harry had no doubt but that Draco was well aware that Harry was very turned on indeed.


	16. In the Cave, Still

**16. In the Cave, Still**

When the young woman at the hostel in Bangor told them that there were no empty beds available that night, Draco was dismayed, and grateful that Harry did not seem disposed to blame him for having insisted on not booking in advance. He had not realized that even in a small Muggle city a hostel might be a popular place on a Saturday evening. Although sleeping in the mountain cave sounded cold, dank, and filthy, Draco went along with Harry's idea. It would at any rate be both free and indisputably private, a plus after sharing last night's room with Ron and Hermione. And Harry's reminiscences of the good time he had had camping at the Quidditch World Cup with the Weasleys made Draco feel that perhaps he had missed out. He had been sent off into the woods when his father had decided to indulge in a spot of Muggle-baiting, and after the excitement was all over he had simply gone back to the Malfoy pavilion to sleep.

They decided to get fish and chips for their dinner before going back to the cave. Draco, as usual, ate his without vinegar. Harry said that that was terribly boring, but nevertheless kept stealing chips from Draco's plate to eat, glancing at him as if daring Draco to do something about it. So Draco held Harry's gaze as he ate a couple himself, thinking of how he would like to nibble on assorted bits of Harry's anatomy in much the same manner, licking his fingers when he had finished. Something of his thoughts must have gotten through to the other boy, because Harry blushed furiously and choked on his fish.

Pounding on Harry's back, Draco resolved to stop flirting for the time being. If he made Harry too uncomfortable now, his chances of getting Harry relaxed later on would diminish considerably, and he had some schemes in mind already of how he might manage that. His first and simplest idea was to get some alcohol into Harry. Draco might have let himself go a bit in Bristol with that cider, but the Malfoys served wine regularly with dinner, and Draco was much better at gauging his consumption of that. Besides, he liked the way wine tasted. He suspected that Harry would too, without entirely realizing its strength. In the off-licence that he dragged Harry into, the clerk suggested a red Spanish wine that was well-rated but modestly priced, and Draco bought four bottles. Together they cost a good third of his remaining Muggle money, but it was worth the investment, Draco decided, since Harry might take a lot of persuading.

Before anything else Draco made sure that the cave was clean enough by his standards. Camping like a Muggle was all very well in theory, but he was _not_ going to sleep – much less do anything more interesting – with dirt and dead leaves and Merlin-knew-what underneath him. As Draco cleared away the rubbish, Harry conjured a fire and then suggested that they try a Cushioning Charm under their sleeping bags to make things more comfortable. Afterward he followed Harry outside to enjoy the last of the light.

"This would be a great place to fly, it would be really challenging to weave through the trees," said Harry, sitting on a boulder above the cave.

Draco sat down next to him, not quite so close that their legs touched, but a little wriggle would bring them into contact. "Yeah. I've missed flying. No broom, and it wouldn't've been safe even if I'd had the old Nimbus 2001 with me." That might sound like showing off, he realized, but after all Harry owned a Firebolt, he was hardly going to envy Draco's broom. Not being able to fly had been quite a blow. Draco loved the feel of the wind against him, the sense of total control he had on a broomstick. He had had to give up playing in a couple of Slytherin's matches last year, when he needed every moment to try to mend the Vanishing Cabinet, and it had been a struggle with his conscience to do so. Draco sighed and rested his chin on his knees, hugging his legs to him. He closed his eyes, but the light that edged the western peaks still shone redly through his lids.

"Look there, Draco!" Harry's voice broke in on his thoughts.

"What?" Draco's eyes flew open. "Where?"

"There, you see?" Harry was pointing across the valley, a little to the left. Against the faded scarlet of the sky Draco could make out something flying – a dragon! It had to be a dragon, nothing else looked like that. Thankfully the creature flew onward, disappearing off to the north rather than swooping down into the valley where they sat.

"Hagrid would've loved to see that," said Harry.

Draco could not help letting out a snort at that remark. Of course Hagrid would. He was half a monster himself, like called to like.

The snort must have been too easily understood, because Harry said, "Look, he may be a half-giant, but he's a friend of mine and there's nothing wrong with him. It was really uncalled-for when you tried to get him dismissed."

Now _that_ was just too much to let pass without a word, even to avoid a quarrel that might disrupt all Draco's plans for tonight. "Harry, you have to admit that giants are not exactly an estimable bunch, on the whole. But leaving that aside, Hagrid himself may be a decent fellow and a fine gamekeeper, but he's a _wretched_ teacher. I learned hardly anything about Care of Magical Creatures from him, and his idea of a good lesson was liable to cause bodily harm. It was perfectly reasonable of me to do what I could to try to get him sacked and replaced with someone who might teach us enough to pass our O.W.L.s."

"That's just not true, he's a great teacher," Harry protested. "His classes were brilliant."

Draco stared at him and said sarcastically, "That's why you've gone on for a N.E.W.T., right? And so has everyone else in our year?"

Harry could not deny that not a single person had opted to continue Care of Magical Creatures at N.E.W.T. level, but he still defended Hagrid, saying that he would not even have pictures of his parents if Hagrid had not given him some.

"I'm not saying he's not been good to you," said Draco, holding on to his patience with an effort. He regretted having allowed himself to make that snort in the first place. This conversational trend was unlikely to lead anywhere he wanted to go, and might well leave Harry too annoyed to be in the mood even for a bit of snogging, much less anything more. "All I've said is that he's not a good teacher, and that's undeniable, really. And _he_ may be fond of dragons and hippogriffs and other dangerous beasts, but I have to say that _I'm_ not, and I'd rather go back in the cave. It's nearly dark anyhow."

"The Welsh Green isn't nocturnal," said Harry, but nonetheless he jumped up and followed Draco back inside with considerable alacrity. For all his bravado, he did not seem too keen to hang about in the open after having seen a wild dragon in flight.

Now, thought Draco, would be a good time to open one of those bottles, shift the atmosphere a bit. He picked up the corkscrew that the clerk had insisted they would need. Totally unnecessary, of course, since a simple spell would remove the cork, but...

"D'you know how to work this thing?" Draco hoped Harry would volunteer to demonstrate, but unfortunately Harry merely explained how to do it. It was not terribly difficult after all. When the cork had slid out with a resonant pop, Draco tilted the bottle to taste the wine. Not bad, for the price, although it would be better once it had breathed a little. He licked a stray droplet from his lips and passed the bottle over to Harry. "Here, have some."

He watched as Harry first sniffed at the bottle and then drank thirstily. Draco repressed a grin; as he had thought, Harry was not accustomed to wine, he was drinking it as if it were butterbeer. Harry gave the wine back and stretched out on his sleeping bag. The blue light of the magical fire glinted off his glasses, and his hair, as rumpled as ever, stuck out through his fingers as he propped himself up on one hand.

Picking up the bottle again, Draco glanced at Harry. He was so scruffy, always – how did he manage to make that sexy? It was not as if he looked like he had just rolled out of bed and would like to get back in, more like he had been flying and then changed hastily out of his Quidditch robes and raced in late to a class. If he were anyone but Harry Potter, Draco would not have given him a second glance. Should anyone have asked him, Blaise Zabini was much more Draco's style when it came to look – slim, dark, polished. But nevertheless Draco could hardly keep his eyes off the Gryffindor. He made himself look down at the bottle as he raised it to his mouth, and was about to drink when Harry spoke.

"Why don't you like girls, Draco?"

Draco paused, thankful that he had not yet taken that next mouthful, because he was sure he would have choked on it. "I'm sorry?" he said, carefully setting the bottle down. "Why don't I like girls?" He did not want to hurt Harry's feelings, but Harry had said so many peculiar and unexpected things that day that Draco could not help chuckling.

Harry's face went more scarlet than a Gryffindor banner. "Er, yeah," he muttered.

"I do like them, some girls anyway, I just don't fancy them," Draco said, puzzled. "Why is this suddenly a burning question?"

Shoulders hunched, Harry avoided Draco's gaze and took another long drink of wine. Draco tilted his head to evaluate the level remaining in the bottle. No, Harry had not drunk nearly enough for the alcohol to have loosened his tongue yet. So what _had_ prompted this? Then it came to him – Harry must be so uncertain, on some level, that even the least relaxation and his concerns popped out. "You want to know if I'm really queer, and how I decided I was, because you're starting to think maybe you prefer blokes too." He stated it all as fact, confident of his deductions.

After a minute Harry nodded. "Yeah, that's basically it."

Draco was afraid that if Harry could see his face, the emotions Draco felt would be too blazingly clear to hide. He was not ready to give up that much of himself, so he fixed his eyes on the bottle's label as if reading it. "I've always known, more or less. None of the girls that everyone else said they wanted to shag ever got me hot, at least not like thinking about..." he caught himself before saying "you" and substituted, "certain blokes. It would've been tough not to realize. I did snog a couple of girls, like I told you before, but when this one bloke, well, when he made a move on me, it became very clear. There was never anything serious between us, but he and I had some good times."

Mostly after Quidditch practices, those good times had been. Miles Bletchley had been the Slytherin Keeper, and had used the excuse of working out game strategy with Draco as Seeker to work out some other things with him as well. When Miles became interested in one of his fellow seventh-years while studying for his N.E.W.T.s, though, he and Draco had parted amicably and Draco had taken up for a while with Blaise instead.

"So then it didn't seem strange to you to be turned on by another bloke," said Harry.

"No, it seemed natural," said Draco, but something about how Harry had phrased that statement caught his attention. Did Harry mean what Draco thought he might? The only way to know was to ask, he just hoped not to sound too eager. "Are you saying that _I_ turn _you_ on, Harry?" He held his breath, waiting for Harry's answer.

"Yes," Harry said.

Draco breathed again. If Harry was willing to acknowledge that, Draco was confident that he could get Harry to go at least as far as they had gone before, maybe further, despite what Harry was saying now.

"But I'm not sure that I know you well enough," Harry was explaining earnestly. "I've known Ginny for ages, and we didn't even..." he broke off, but Draco could guess the rest.

So Harry had not gotten it on with little Ginny Weasley after all? Not surprising, not at Hogwarts. The teachers were much more alert for that sort of thing between boys and girls than between boys and boys. Old-fashioned of them, but Draco had been glad to take advantage of their obtuseness. And perhaps Harry had not _really_ wanted Ginny, just thought he did? Which gave Draco more of a chance than he could ever have guessed possible a few months ago.

He leaned forward and touched Harry's knee. Time for some encouragement, not to say charm. "I swore that I'd be loyal to you and help you in any need, right?"

"Right," said Harry," managing somehow to look both wary and trusting.

"So what if _this_ is what you _need_, now?" coaxed Draco persuasively. He let his hand drift higher up Harry's thigh. "It doesn't have to mean anything you don't want it to mean." Although Draco hoped that it would mean _something_ to Harry, because it did to Draco. Imprudent and incautious as it was – practically Gryffindor-like, in fact – he realized that his feelings towards Harry were moving far beyond admiration for the Boy Who Lived or simply fancying a shag with him. Not that he was prepared to let Harry know that, not yet. Confessing such things only put one at the other person's mercy and he was already too dependent on Harry for his own comfort.

Harry took Draco's hand and tugged him over. Draco exploited the momentary imbalance to push Harry onto his back, while Draco knelt over him.

"No, it needn't mean anything," Harry agreed, taking off his glasses.

"Where were we before we were interrupted the other night," Draco said, half to himself, and slid up the loose fabric of Harry's shirt to reveal a nicely muscled expanse of torso. "About here, I think?" Quickly, not wanting to give Harry a chance to rethink his acquiescence, Draco leaned over and swiped his tongue over Harry's right nipple. Harry gasped.

Draco settled himself more comfortably between Harry's legs. He could feel the bulge in Harry's jeans, pressing against his own hip, and the plain evidence that Harry was so turned on already made Draco far more excited himself. There was something much more arousing about knowing he was having this effect on _Harry_ than had ever been the case with Miles or Blaise, inventive and skilled as Blaise, especially, had been. Draco licked again, then blew across the wetness, causing Harry to squirm and press against him.

"What do you want, Harry? Not going to hold me to those limits you set at the barn, are you?" Draco ran his right hand across Harry's chest and downward, stopping at the waistband of his jeans.

There was a hint of panic in the green eyes, but as Draco waited Harry's expression hardened into cautious determination. "No, I'm not."

Still, Draco decided, better to go carefully for now. There were four days before they were supposed to meet up with Hermione and Ron again, so even if the Mudbl... even if Hermione came up with a solution to hide Draco by then, he would have several more nights alone with Harry for certain. And he did not at all want to have the only friend he had at present feel anything but glad to be around him.

Slowly he undid the button and slid down the zip of Harry's jeans. "Lift," he muttered, and Harry raised his hips enough to let Draco slide the fabric down to his knees.

It was a sight Draco had imagined a hundred times, wanking in the showers or in bed: Harry naked, or nearly so, just waiting for Draco to touch him. If Draco had never envisioned this encounter as taking place in a remote Welsh cave while on the run from Voldemort, well, the unlikeliness of it all made it more real, and more exciting. Draco reached out, using all his own experience to touch and tease, until Harry had come, pulsing sticky wetness across his stomach, looking at Draco with wide eyes. Draco ignored the way the damp patch transferred onto himself as he stretched up to give Harry a kiss. He liked what it represented – that Harry had had this pleasure from _him_. And it pleased him that Harry showed no hesitation in snogging him back quite thoroughly.

They had to break off after a while to catch their breaths, and Draco reached for the wine bottle. Sitting up to drink pulled his jeans uncomfortably tight, so when he had passed the bottle to Harry he started to undo the zip in order to adjust himself.

"Let me," Harry stopped him, putting his hand over Draco's.

Draco was more than happy to oblige. Harry's touch was fumbling at first, and the rhythm that he set was both slower and harder than what Draco usually preferred, but he was in no mood to criticize, not when he was finally getting what he had wanted for a very long time.

Harry had kicked his own jeans off completely and he pulled Draco around so that he was leaning against Harry's chest. Draco could feel Harry's cock nudging against his buttocks. Maybe sometime... but not tonight. Harry bit down on Draco's neck, sending him over the edge.

"Oh, fuck, yeah Harry," Draco shuddered. Harry's fingers lingered on him for a moment, almost painfully, and Draco squirmed with discomfort. Harry let go.

"Yeah, Draco?"

"Yeah." Draco let himself rest against Harry for a minute, then pushed his hair back from his sweaty face. "_Accio_ wand." The piece of boxwood, hardly longer than the span of his hand, was the only thing other than the clothes he stood up in that Draco had brought out of Hogwarts on the night he had fled with Professor Snape, and he held it like a talisman, spelling them both clean with a quick "_Scourgify_." He rolled over to face Harry.

"Thanks," he said. It felt strange to say that, but Draco could think of nothing better.

"Er, you're welcome," said Harry, clearly embarrassed. "And thank you, too. That was... good. Really good." He smiled crookedly, his face odd and vulnerable without his glasses.

Draco smiled back. It had worked out rather well, all things considered. Harry might have declared that what they did need not mean anything, but Draco suspected that Harry was not going to be able to hold to that. He was a Gryffindor. He would plunge in first and come up with reasons afterward to justify what he had done. But if Harry felt pushed into something, he was stubborn enough to resist out of sheer contrariness, even if it was what he really wanted. So best to keep things casual now.

"I could stand something to eat, how about you?" Draco asked. He stood up and, still naked, went over to where they had left the sandwiches, kneeling down and turning his head toward Harry. "What d'you fancy?"

"Did we get any roast beef and salad?" Harry had sat up and put his glasses on again. He looked better like that, the specs were so much a part of Harry's appearance that even when he was wearing nothing else Draco liked to see them on him.

"I think so." Draco pawed through the half-dozen containers and pulled one forth in triumph. "Here, catch," he tossed it to Harry and took the cheese and pickle sandwich for himself. Instead of rejoining Harry, though, he went back to his own sleeping bag and slipped into it. He was at a bit of a loss for what to say or do now. At Hogwarts there had never been a lot of time to spare after any encounter, not with the very real chance that a teacher or another student might happen by. So Draco did not quite know how best to deal with the fact that Harry and he would be alone in each other's company for the rest of the night, especially with Harry's insistence that their messing around was not going to mean anything. Otherwise, he thought, he might have suggested actually sleeping together. But what Harry had allowed in Godric's Hollow and at the Grangers', when there were no alternatives, would bear an entirely different import if they did it on purpose. Draco bit into his sandwich, reflecting gloomily that perhaps getting what he wanted was not an unmitigated positive after all.

Harry was eating in silence in his sleeping bag. When he had finished he tossed the container towards the wall and said, "Er. Draco?"

"Mm?" Draco was still chewing, enjoying the sharp rich taste of the pickle as a distraction from his thoughts.

"Maybe tomorrow we should first look into finding a hostel for the night, d'you think? I mean, this is fine and all but we can't stay here for another night, not two in a row anyhow. And if you wanted... if we wanted... to try for having a two-person room, you know?" Harry's words stumbled to an inelegant halt.

The knot of uncertainty in Draco's chest warmed and loosened. He was nearly sure that Harry was suggesting, in a backhanded kind of way, that he was willing to make an effort to have privacy with Draco again the next night, rather than risk being in one of the larger dormitories of a hostel. "Yeah, I'd like that," he said, trying to keep his elation in check. "Find a place for the night, have breakfast, then do some more Transfiguration work, I guess."

"That'll be good," said Harry. Draco could see that he had pillowed his head on one arm, facing inward. "I'd make the fire smaller so it wouldn't be so bright, but I think it might get cold before morning," he added. "Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"We'd be warmer if we put the sleeping bags together," said Harry. "I'm pretty sure they can zip to each other. Only if you want, though."

Ha. Only if Draco wanted. "Oh. Well, sure. It'll be easier to sleep if there's not so much light," said Draco, glad that Harry was no Legilimens and could not pick up just now on his thoughts, which were both exuberant and indecent.

They had a little trouble getting the two bags zipped together, but managed it eventually and climbed in, bringing with them a couple of bags of crisps and a second bottle of wine. Harry spelled the magical fire down to a flame little greater than three candles would have been.

"Is this more like when you were at the Quidditch World Cup, then?" Draco asked.

"Ron and I were in separate bunks," said Harry, "but up late, eating and talking? Yeah. No big Quidditch match to discuss today though. And he and I talked about girls... don't think we'll be doing that either." Harry reached over and put his hand on Draco's bare chest. "Will we?"

"No, said Draco, barely breathing. "No, I don't believe we will."


	17. Inside the Sleeping Bag

**17. Inside the Sleeping Bag**

Draco had stopped. Why had he stopped? Harry squirmed, his body sending clamoring messages to his brain that it wanted to continue, and that whatever was necessary had better be done to make sure that happened.

"What do you want, Harry?" Grey eyes looked into his own. "You're not going to hold me to the limits you set before at the barn, are you?"

As Draco trailed his fingers feather-light across Harry's chest and downward, then paused as Draco waited for a reply, Harry bit his lip. He could only guess what Draco might think of to do if Harry did not keep him in check, but surely he would stop if Harry objected to anything? Harry's mouth was dry. Every part of him seemed to be focused on those few square inches of skin where Draco's fingertips rested.

"No, I'm not," Harry managed finally to say, and then Draco was unzipping Harry's jeans and sliding them down and, oh, _touching_ him, the way he touched himself except that he never knew just how Draco would move next, and the uncertainty only made it more wonderful. Harry's eyes were half-closed but he could still see Draco's head bent down over him, his expression intent, fair hair hanging in curtains past his cheeks and making him look oddly vulnerable as he stroked Harry, hand pumping faster now, and oh _yes_ and Harry was embarrassed at how fast he had come, and it had spattered not just over himself but onto Draco's face as well. But Draco did not seem to notice or care, since he had moved up to press his lips against Harry's without saying a word.

Harry kissed him hungrily, tasting the slight sweetness of the wine lingering in Draco's mouth, a counterpoint to the acrid smell of his own come. This was a lot better than his experiments with Ron had encouraged him to expect, and that led his mind to Ginny. He did like her, he was sure of that, not only as his best mate's sister and as a friend herself, but as a girl. Hadn't he enjoyed kissing her just as much as Draco now? But these thoughts were distracting... he pushed them away to concentrate on how Draco's tongue was finding unexpectedly sensitive places, and all other concerns vanished for the time being.

After awhile they had to pause to catch their breaths. Harry was taking another mouthful of wine when he saw Draco trying to adjust his own jeans, and was struck with guilt that he had let Draco get him off without even thinking about reciprocating. He reached out to stop Draco. "Let me."

It was awkward, figuring out how to touch him. The angle seemed all wrong and Harry could not tell if the little noises Draco was making meant that what Harry was doing felt good or bad. He solved the first problem by pulling Draco back against him so that he could reach down, just as if he were wanking. That made it much easier. As for the second – well, surely Draco would say something if Harry was doing it wrong, wouldn't he? Harry opened his legs wider so that Draco fit between them more comfortably, and speeded up his stroke a little, trying to think of how fast he would like it and hoping Draco would feel the same. Draco's hair was in his face and Harry blew the fine pale strands away. He bent his head to the juncture of Draco's neck and shoulder, replicating the love-bite he had so futilely charmed away in Bath.

Draco groaned, "Oh, fuck. Yeah, Harry," and came in Harry's hand. Harry mentally filed away the information that Draco liked it a little rough, at least when it came to kisses, although he was wriggling his hips as if Harry's touch on his cock had become painful.

Hastily Harry let his hand fall away, saying, "Yeah, Draco?"

"Yeah," said Draco, and leaned back against Harry's chest. The weight and warmth of him felt good, and Harry was sorry when Draco summoned his wand, cleaned them both up with a spell, and rolled away. "Thanks, Harry."

Oh, no – was this some piece of sex etiquette that Harry was ignorant of? He had not said anything at all to Draco after getting off. Better do it now. "Er, you're welcome. And thank you, too. That was... really good." Which sounded completely idiotic, as if he were thanking Draco for passing him a _biscuit_ or something, but Harry's toes curled at the thought of telling Draco that it was the best sex he had ever had, if it counted as sex which he didn't know, so all he could do was to smile at Draco, squinting because his glasses were still sitting on the rocky floor a couple of feet away

Draco smiled back, but then to Harry's dismay he got up to fetch them both sandwiches. Dismayed not because he was not hungry – that fish and chips had been a while ago – but because Draco went and ate on his own sleeping bag. Harry wondered why Draco did not come sit by him, if he had offended Draco somehow. He put on his glasses so that he could see Draco's expression clearly. The other boy was now chewing his sandwich and looking glum. Why? Surely he was not regretting what they had done, when he had been the one who had made the first moves, and not just tonight either. Unless Harry had been terrible at it... but Draco had said "thank you," so that could not be the trouble. Was Draco worried that _Harry_ might regret it? But he did not, not at all, even if he was uncertain whether enjoying getting off with Draco meant he was actually queer, given that he did still like Ginny too.

The only way Harry could think of to convince Draco that he was quite willing to let them go on with the sex another time, without actually saying so right out – he could not think of any words that would not make him sound too vulnerable and weak – was to suggest that first thing in the morning they ought to try to book a two-person room for that night. Draco seemed to guess what Harry meant, because his face lit up though his reply attempted to be casual.

His transparent pleasure made Harry decide it was worth risking a little more. When they had shared a bed in Godric's Hollow, and again at the Grangers', it had discomfited him to have Draco so close, but now he thought that it might be rather nice. Goodness knew that the beds at whatever hostels they ended up at over the next several days were _not_ going to be wide enough for that, not with any comfort. But without actually saying, "Will you share a bed with me?" what excuse could he use? The fire, that was it. It was bright, maybe too bright to sleep easily, but if he made it smaller then it would be colder in the cave... Harry said as much to Draco, and suggested that they would stay warmer if they zipped their sleeping bags together. It worked surprisingly well.

When they were both snuggled down inside the double bag, Draco asked, "Is this like when you were at the Quidditch world Cup?"

"Ron and I were in separate bunks, but we stayed up late to eat and talk," said Harry. "No match to talk about today, though, and he and I discussed girls too. I don't think we'll be doing that either." He moved his hand forward a few inches to brush against Draco's bare chest. "Will we?"

"I don't believe we will," said Draco, his eyes wide and dark, all his muscles tensed under Harry's touch as if he might leap away.

It felt strange to be looking at Draco like this and thinking about him, not as the enemy he had been for so long, not as a person who Harry had promised to help only out of loyalty to Dumbledore, but as someone who was now both more and less than a friend. If Harry had ever seriously considered that he might want to have sex with another boy, it would not have been Draco Malfoy. Draco was too supercilious, too cocksure, too _pureblood_. And yet... here they were, naked and in bed together, and Harry was already hard again. He wanted more, but he wasn't sure he _wanted_ to want that, not yet.

"What would you like to talk about, then?" said Harry. He did not take his hand away, but neither did he stroke Draco's skin as had been his first impulse. "Where to go tomorrow? How we might try removing the Mark? What it's like to be a Death Eater?"

"How about what it's like to be the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One?" Draco shot back.

Fair enough, that last question of Harry's _had_ been a bit of a foul blow. "It's awful, actually," said Harry, and pulled away from Draco to roll onto his back, tucking his hands under his head. "People, wizards and witches that is, knew who I was before I did, and they made all kinds of judgments and assumptions about me based on the fact that Voldemort had tried to kill me and failed. I don't _know_ why he failed. I was a baby. Even what the prophecy said didn't make it clear."

"The prophecy?"

"Yeah. What your father and the rest of them were after at the Ministry of Magic last year, when he was caught." Harry heard Draco's breath catch. "You can't repeat this to your father or Voldemort or anyone, you know," he reminded Draco. "Not with the Vow."

"I know that," Draco sounded impatient. "What did the prophecy say?"

Harry thought a minute, trying to remember the words as precisely as he could. "It was made before I was born, and I only heard the whole of it once. The prophecy said that the one with the power to defeat Voldemort approached, and would be born at the end of the seventh month to parents who had defied him three times. That Voldemort would mark him as an equal but he would have power that Voldemort did not. And that one of us would have to kill the other." Harry shivered. "The strange thing is that it could have been Neville, not me; his parents resisted three times, just like mine, and he was born only a day before me. If Voldemort had tried to kill Neville instead, it _would_ be him, Dumbledore said. Then _he_ would be Voldemort's enemy, and the one who has to kill him."

Draco laughed.

"It's not funny," Harry rounded on him. "How would you like to know that you _have_ to kill someone, someone terrifying and powerful and dangerous, because otherwise he'll kill you?"

"I wouldn't, Harry, I didn't mean that it's not an awful thing to have prophesied about you," said Draco, sobering quickly. "It was the idea of Neville being the Chosen One that struck me as ridiculous. I think you were a much better choice, really. There's no chance I would have gone to Neville for help, and I would _definitely_ not be in bed with him like this." He gave Harry a smile of such glittering ardor that it was almost a kiss in itself.

Now Harry grinned too. "Anyhow. So being the Boy Who Lived isn't that wonderful in itself, and _certain_ people" – he raised his eyebrows at Draco – "didn't exactly make it easier by deciding to tease me about it. Not to mention the kinds of articles the _Daily Prophet_ liked to run, where one week I was lauded as the savior of the wizarding world and the next I was dismissed as a lying poncy git with a swelled head. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"I suppose so," Draco said, "but I think you left out the part where the girls all chased after you because you were famous."

"Oh." Harry reddened. "Yeah, well, that wasn't something I enjoyed. It was creepy. They were giving me chocolates spiked with love potions. And I thought we weren't going to talk about girls?"

"We weren't. But I thought that meant you wanted to talk about boys, and then you didn't," said Draco. "Somehow discussing Neville Longbottom doesn't seem to qualify. Unless I missed something?"

"Not exactly," said Harry. "Well, no, not at all. Er. I never thought of talking about boys..."

"The same way you've done about girls?" Draco finished Harry's sentence. "I haven't either, not really." He smiled a predatory kind of smile. "Despite any rumors to the contrary, most Slytherins are quite as straight as your average Gryffindor. And those who aren't tend to be... careful about whom they trust with that knowledge. Not something one wants to give away, so it's not as if I ever broke into the endless late-night dormitory talk about which girl would be most desirable to shag and started discussing which blokes were the most shaggable instead. A bit too obvious, that."

"I can see so," Harry agreed, "but I don't think I can talk about boys with you anyhow, because I wouldn't have anyone in mind. Even though you're not the first one I've ever snogged, I never actually considered getting off with another bloke before, not seriously that is. I was obsessed with Cho Chang for ages, and then of course there was Ginny. That's why Hermione was so surprised."

He had not intended to tell Draco about that, and regretted the final words as soon as they had slipped out. Draco's face went slack with astonishment first, but rapidly his expression became furious.

"You told _Granger_?"

"No – wait," Harry held onto Draco's arm to keep him from climbing out of the sleeping bag. "I didn't tell her. She guessed."

Draco's voice was skeptical. "Right. She guessed. How?"

"Because I spelled away that love-bite on your neck. She'd noticed it, I guess, and then it was gone, and she figured out that we'd only have bothered if it was something we were trying to hide. So it's my fault," Harry concluded ruefully. "If I'd just left it alone, or not given you the bruise to begin with, she wouldn't've guessed it. But I could hardly deny that she was right. I'm sorry, Draco, honestly. I can see it upsets you, but if it helps, I'm pretty sure Ron hasn't guessed, and Hermione won't say anything, I don't think."

"You don't _think_," repeated Draco sarcastically, but he did not look quite so angry and was no longer trying to pull away from Harry. "Merlin, Harry, what if she _does_ say something? I'm already _persona non grata_ to your friends, except maybe for her and Weasley, and can you imagine if that piece of gossip got out? The _Daily Prophet_ would have a field day. I can just imagine the headline: 'Chosen One In Love Nest With Hogwarts Headmaster's Murderer'."

"She won't say anything," said Harry again, although he was less certain than he tried to sound. Hermione did speak before she thought sometimes. She was undeniably clever, but not always sensible. "And you didn't kill Dumbledore."

He frowned. "Why are you so worried about Hermione knowing, anyway? You say you've always known you prefer boys, so why should it bother _you_ if someone else knows you fancy me? It ought to bother _me_, not you."

Draco said, "My parents don't know, though. Remember what I told you about pureblood marriages? If by some chance the Malfoy family isn't completely ruined and discredited after Voldemort either wins or loses for good, I'll be a valuable potential alliance, from a pureblood perspective. But if I'm known to be queer – not so much. And my father would be furious and my mother upset, and believe me, you _don't_ want either of those things to happen, because that tends to result in the kind of outburst that flattens Muggle villages and requires Ministry Obliviators to clear it up."

"But your father's in Azkaban. Even in the unlikely event of a _Prophet_ headline, I somehow doubt that prisoners get the paper," Harry said.

"He would hear, believe me," said Draco darkly. "If nothing else, if my mother found out, she would manage to contact him somehow. So I hope you're right and Granger is trustworthy."

"I've trusted _Hermione_ with my life," said Harry. "Come on, let's not argue about something that isn't going to happen, all right?"

Draco nodded, although he still looked disgruntled.

"Wouldn't you _ever_ tell your parents, though? Obviously a newspaper article wouldn't be the way you'd choose to do it, but won't you tell them yourself, someday?" Harry asked, curious. "I mean, what if you met someone and wanted to, you know, settle down with him permanently. Before they marry you off to some pureblood girl. What would you do?"

"I don't know," said Draco. "It might depend on what _he_ was willing to do, or wanted. If he was from a pureblood family he'd understand, probably be in the same sort of situation. If not..." Draco shrugged. "Then it might depend on how much I wanted to be with him, if he wasn't willing to wait. I don't know how Muggles think, but the wizarding world is not all that keen on its queers. Pureblood families the least so, proper ones anyhow. Perhaps the Weasleys would see things differently, though you might be surprised, Harry. Announcing that one prefers one's own sex is not the way to achieve a successful life, nor a quiet one; discretion is a much more workable approach."

"It seems dishonest, to hide what you are," Harry said.

"Dishonest maybe, but practical. Right now, if my parents found out, if my father weren't in Azkaban that is, they _might_ try to shrug it off as adolescent experimentation and hope I'd get over it," Draco continued. "I doubt I'd disabuse them of the notion. It wouldn't be worth the arguments and recriminations – if my father were convinced that I meant it, he might even go so far as to disinherit me, and I'd really prefer not to have that happen. Besides, I feel I owe it to my family to continue the bloodline, regardless of whether I'm interested in girls for sex, and I'd rather my children be legitimate. It's easier all around to marry for that in the first place instead of fixing things up afterward. My preference for blokes is really irrelevant when it comes to all that sort of thing."

Harry still thought this pureblood insistence on not letting the family line die out was just as ridiculous as the previous time Draco had mentioned it, but he could tell that it was not something about which the other boy was going to change his mind.

"I wonder what _my_ parents would've thought," Harry said.

"About what?" Draco moved a little closer, one of his legs bumping against Harry's.

"Well," said Harry, "About you. That we'd... you know. Not that messing around means anything much in the long run, necessarily, but if it did eventually." He floundered, not wanting to think of Draco as he had been used to thinking of Ginny, as someone he could be with for a long time, but not able to deny that it was possible. Because he _was_ beginning to like Draco, albeit reluctantly, not just as someone he was finding unexpectedly fun to fool around with, but as something more. "I guess I wouldn't have told them anything yet, anyway. Would you? Tell your parents about someone you were seeing, before it was really serious I mean. Assuming it was a girl, someone they would approve of, would you want them to know about it before anything was definite?"

Draco gave a sardonic little chuckle. "Only if it were a girl from a family they would be happy to be allied with, and only maybe even then. What if we broke up afterward? I'd never hear the end of it, and they'd hold me responsible for their disappointment. So no, I don't think so." He sat up and reached for the wine bottle.

"_Aperio_." The foil untwisted and the cork popped itself out into Draco's hand.

"You git, you didn't need that corkscrew before at all," said Harry. Draco only grinned at him and tilted the bottle up. "Give me that." The warmth of the wine seemed to flow all through his body as he drank, breathed, and drank again.

Long cool fingers plucked the bottle away when Harry lowered it, and Draco said, his voice unsteady, "If _you_ were serious about someone, even if things weren't completely settled yet, do you think you'd tell _your_ parents, if they were here to tell?"

Harry peered at Draco. What was he trying to get at? Draco never asked anything without some reason, of that Harry was certain.

"I think I'd want to," he hedged slightly. "I'd probably let my friends know, so it seems like then I should tell my parents too. Even if I wasn't sure how they'd react, maybe even if I thought they wouldn't like it. I mean, they're my parents."

Draco murmured something that Harry could not quite hear.

"Sorry, what'd you say?"

"Nothing," said Draco. "Really, it doesn't matter," he repeated when Harry let his disbelief show. "That's very... admirable of you."

"Hm," said Harry. The wine was making him feel a bit light-headed, and the sleeping bag seemed very warm. The only thing he was able to focus on was Draco's face and it was swaying back and forth across his field of vision as elusively as the Golden Snitch at a Quidditch match. He reached out to steady it and found that he had somehow wrapped his arms around Draco and was kissing him again.

His glasses were in the way until Draco pulled them off. He twisted slightly in Harry's embrace and all at once Harry realized that Draco's cock was the hardness that pressed against his own, and Draco's hands were locked around Harry's arse, rocking them together. Harry could smell the sharp scents of sweat and lust, dizzying him as he breathed, or was that just the wine?

"Harry..." Draco's urgent voice recalled his attention. "Here, yeah," and his hand was taken and guided between them, Draco moving their hands together so that Harry could hold both of their cocks at once, hot and damp and quivering-hard, and he could hardly tell who was touching whom when Draco's mouth fastened on his throat.

It felt like nothing Harry had known, better even than earlier because this time it was skin to skin all over. Draco was rubbing against him, making sounds of encouragement, and Harry bit back, remembering how Draco had responded before. Draco thrust hard against him and Harry's hand was unexpectedly slick with Draco's come, a fact he had hardly time to register before Draco had teased him to the same point, the release bringing both relief and regret that it was over.

Sweaty, sticky, Harry wiped his palm off on his hip and pushed the hair out of his eyes. Draco wore a smile of languid satisfaction as he tilted his head towards Harry.

"Better than even a really good wank, isn't it?" Draco said, and Harry had to laugh at the cockiness of him, so self-assured even when his world had crumbled around him, lying here in this remote Welsh cave.

"Definitely," said Harry. "But messier."

"So, clean us up," replied Draco. "You know how."

Harry _Accio_'d his wand and performed the spell. Setting it down, he yawned.

"Not bored with me already?" said Draco lightly.

"No, just," Harry yawned again, "just tired." He rolled over, facing away from Draco. "I sleep better on this side, I'm not ignoring you."

"That's all right." Draco put his arm over Harry's waist and pressed close behind him. "Me, too."

The blue light of the tiny fire was not enough to disturb Harry as he fell asleep. He woke once during the night, startled to find Draco beside him before he remembered what had happened and relaxed into sleep again. In the morning the air of the cave was chill, making Harry glad that his excuse for sleeping together had been justified. They ate the rest of the food they had bought last night for breakfast and packed up their gear.

"Where d'you want to try going for tonight?" Harry asked.

"Oh, I don't care. Open that guide book at random and see what comes up," said Draco.

The book fell open at Aberdeen, in Scotland.

"Will that be all right? Last time we were in the north was when you thought Voldemort might be close by," Harry said.

"Aberdeen is a long way from Yorkshire," said Draco. "Might as well see what happens."

Harry put out the fire and they walked out of the cave. "It was a good place, this. Maybe sometime we can come back," he said, stealing a sideways glance at Draco.

"I'd like that," Draco said. He adjusted the straps of his rucksack and reached out to take Harry's hand. "But for now we'd better go."


	18. To the Granite City

**18. To the Granite City**

"So what do you want to talk about? Where to go next? How to remove the Mark? What it's like to be a Death Eater?"

Draco felt it like a blow to the stomach. He had thought things were shaping up well between them, yet Harry asked a question like that? Grasping for something equally hurtful, he said, "How about what it's like to be the Boy Who Lived?"

He regretted it when Harry pulled as far away as the confines of the sleeping bag permitted, even though what Harry had to say about how it felt to be the Chosen One, and especially about what the prophecy had said, was fascinating. Harry's warning that Draco could repeat nothing about the prophecy to others was needless. Even without the Vow, Draco liked the idea of knowing something secret about Harry, something so important that Voldemort had sent a whole gang of Death Eaters to find it out – despite the fact that one of them was his own father. The idea that Neville Longbottom might have stood in Harry's place was entirely ludicrous, though. Draco had to laugh at that.

The conversation turned to more personal matters, which pleased Draco until it emerged that somehow Hermione Granger had learned that he and Harry had been messing around.

"You told _Granger_?" Now it was Draco who started to climb out of the sleeping bag, not sure what he intended to do but desperate to get away.

Harry grabbed his arm, however, and held on to it, saying, "No, I didn't tell her. She guessed." He explained how it had been his removal of the love-bite on Draco's neck that had alerted Hermione.

Too clever by half, Granger was. Draco did not want to blame Harry, and he could believe that was how it had happened. He was worried nonetheless. What if Granger talked, and rumors found their way into the _Daily Prophet_ or onto the Wizarding Wireless Network, Merlin forbid? Then he had to explain to Harry all over again just why it bothered him that it might become publicly known that he preferred boys to girls. Harry listened, but Draco was not sure that he really understood how pureblood families functioned. He kept asking whether Draco would ever consider telling his parents the truth, finally even asking if Draco would tell them about a relationship if it were a girl he liked, not a boy.

Draco would not, if he could help it. Too many factors outside his control, and he disliked that. He turned the question around to Harry. "Would _you_ tell your parents, if they were around to tell, if you were serious about someone?" Deliberately he chose not to phrase it, "If you were serious about a girl?" He wanted to see if Harry would assume the person would be a girl, or if he would tacitly accept the possibility that he might find himself seriously interested in another boy.

"I think I'd want to tell my parents if I were seriously involved with someone, since my friends would probably know," Harry said. He had had several more swigs of wine by now, and his face was flushed, little drops of sweat beading along his hairline. "Even if I wasn't sure how they'd react, maybe even if I thought they wouldn't like it."

"Gryffindor honesty flies again," Draco murmured under his breath in a mix of exasperation and tenderness, delighted by Harry's response. Not wanting to explain, he had to avoid repeating his comment aloud when Harry asked, instead saying, "That's very... admirable of you." Foolishly brave, really, even if the Potters might have had different opinions from those of the Malfoy family.

Perhaps it was the compliment, perhaps just the effect of the wine, but Harry leaned over to kiss him again. His glasses bumped uncomfortably against Draco's nose; Draco reached up and pulled them off, careful not to disturb Harry's concentration. He guessed that Harry was probably as hard again as he himself was, and a shift of his weight to bring their hips together proved him right. Harry made no objection when Draco guided his hand to stroke both of them at once. It was so much better this way, moving together urgently, the excitement rising. He meant to make it last longer, but Harry bit him on the neck – how had he learned so quickly to do that? – and Draco could not hold back, coming into their joined hands and using the stickiness to stroke Harry harder, faster, till Harry's cock throbbed and spurted against his.

Oh, this was good, this was what Draco had wanted, so much better than even a really good wank. He realized that he had said that last aloud when Harry laughed a little at him. Draco reminded himself that it was dangerous to let down his guard so readily. He trusted Harry, yes, but bad habits were easy to get into, and not everyone had Harry's sense of honor and loyalty.

"It's twice as messy as wanking, though," Harry remarked, yawning. He spelled them both clean and rolled over away from Draco. "I'm not ignoring you, I sleep better on this side."

"Me, too," said Draco, and he draped one arm around Harry. Draco had never actually _slept_ with anyone else before he had gone to Harry in Godric's Hollow, and those first two nights with Harry, there had been enough lingering distrust between them that it just was not the same as tonight, when a careless or restless move meant nothing more, and neither of them would feel any need to pull back from the other's touch.

He slept well and deeply, but woke early nonetheless. The remaining sandwiches made a substantial, if peculiar, breakfast, and it was the work of only a few minutes to pack everything up and leave the cave tidy.

"Why don't you open that hostel guidebook at random, and we'll go wherever it turns up," he suggested to Harry.

Blind chance chose Aberdeen. Draco felt nervous about going back north – it had been in Yorkshire that the Dark Mark had last burned with Voldemort's touch, and he thought that proximity might have made it worse – but dismissed his fears when Harry voiced them, pointing out that Aberdeen was a long way away from where they had been before.

"If you say so," said Harry, and spelled out the fire. "It was a good place, this. Maybe we could come back sometime."

"I'd like that," Draco said. Muggle-style camping had been far more pleasant than he ever would have thought, although Harry's presence accounted for a lot of his change of heart, he knew. "But now we'd better go." He took Harry's hand, and together they Apparated to Aberdeen. Neither of them had been there before; it was lucky that Harry had mastered the trick of orienting an Apparation to a Muggle map, because Draco knew that had he been on his own, he might have ended up in Aberystwyth instead.

Grey, that was his first impression of the city. The sun shone brilliantly in a blue sky, but practically every building was constructed of grey stone. Dull, dull, dull. "You would think that even a Muggle would get tired of it," he said to Harry as they walked up out of the city center.

"I suppose this stone was cheap when they were building," said Harry. He fished out the guidebook and read through its short description of the city. "Yes, they quarried the stone locally. It's even called the Granite City because so much is built of granite. But you're right, it's not very interesting to look at."

To their disappointment, when they reached the hostel, they learned that it had only two twin rooms, and both were already booked for that night. The best they could do would be a room with four beds, almost certainly shared with two strangers.

"There's one other possibility," Harry said, leafing through the book again after they stepped outside to discuss what to do. "The university here apparently has a hall that lets rooms by the night. We could try there. They have both single and twin rooms, and nothing for more than two people. If there's a twin available that would be better than this hostel. A bit more expensive, doubtless... is that all right with you?"

Draco _was_ somewhat worried about the drain on his funds, but decided it was worth it, and further agreed with Harry that ringing first before walking the several miles to the university was an excellent plan.

Harry emerged from the telephone box smiling. "Done. We'll have a twin room in King's Halls tonight. Breakfast is included, though there's no kitchen facilities so we'll have to go out somewhere for dinner. There's sure to be cheap places to eat near the uni. Now we just need to decide what to do today. More work on Transfiguration?"

"I think first we should talk about what approaches might work best, instead of trying to study without any clear plan," said Draco.

"Did you have something in mind?"

They walked more or less in the direction of the university as they discussed Transfiguration theory. Harry said that between terms like this the university grounds ought not to have too many people about, just like Hogwarts in the summer, when all the students were gone.

Hogwarts. Something tickled at the back of Draco's mind. They could not get into the school grounds right now, not without permission and arrangement like Hermione had set up for herself, but... someone already there could leave. When Harry had finished explaining why he thought Transfiguring Draco's entire arm might be effective, Draco brought up the idea he had just had.

"Harry. You said that you have that house-elf who used to belong to the Blacks..."

"Kreacher," Harry interrupted.

"Right, Kreacher. If he's really yours, you ought to be able to summon him, even from here. We don't have to go to Hogwarts, or get Hermione to carry a message, to get him to bring the money I left there," said Draco excitedly. "I'd have to ask Hermione or Ron to have the Galleons changed at Gringotts of course, but that's all right. I wouldn't be so short of money any more."

Doubtfully, Harry said, "If he'll come when I summon him. Kreacher is _not_ at all pleased that I own him, he'll do anything to wriggle out of my orders, if he can."

"Didn't you say something about having me give him orders instead, when you were talking about it before?" Draco asked.

They planned it out. Harry would summon Kreacher, but then Draco would talk to him while Harry pretended to be angry and defeated, backing up what Draco said as if he disliked it yet had no choice. Draco was sure that two wizards could deceive a house-elf if they were careful.

"I'm still worried, though," said Harry. "Kreacher isn't very trustworthy. I wish there were some way to have Dobby keep an eye on him."

Dobby. Draco was not convinced that the former Malfoy house-elf was any more to be trusted than Kreacher – hadn't Dobby tried to betray Lucius Malfoy's plans to Harry? – but since Harry actually had met both elves, Draco decided to accept his judgment that Dobby was the more reliable.

"I think I can get Kreacher to tell Dobby to come here, too. I'll try," Draco said. "Now go ahead and summon him."

"But I don't know _how_ to summon him. The only time I ever saw it done, Dumbledore was the one who brought him from wherever he was, not me."

By this time they had reached the university and found a reasonably secluded spot between two buildings where it seemed unlikely that any Muggles would pass by, especially on a Sunday morning.

Draco sighed to himself. Sometimes it was more than a bit of a nuisance that Harry had been raised by Muggles, he was ignorant of so many basics. "It's usually a non-verbal spell, but you can do it aloud if that's easier. Say _Adeo Kreacher_ and he ought to appear; house-elves are supposed to always be ready for a summons from their master."

Harry grimaced. "That would make Hermione furious. I have to say it doesn't make me all that happy either to think that Kreacher is always sort of listening to me, in case I call for him."

"No, they can only hear you if they're in a room with you, or if you use the spell to summon them," said Draco patiently. "The spell calls them, they're just supposed to be able to drop anything else when it happens. Like a Muggle telephone."

"All right, all right." Harry gripped his wand. "_Adeo Kreacher_."

Nothing happened.

"Try again," said Draco. "He shouldn't be able to refuse, even if he's delaying out of spite. Say it with force."

"_Adeo Kreacher_," Harry repeated, more firmly this time.

With a crack, a house-elf appeared in front of them, his mouth opening as if he were about to shriek imprecations – which, Draco thought, was undoubtedly the case if Harry's description was accurate.

Harry preempted any untoward noise by saying quickly, "Kreacher, you will not shout or scream. I brought you here at _his_ request." He jabbed a thumb at Draco, then sat down on the grass and looked sullen.

Draco quashed the smile that threatened to spread over his face at Harry's rather overdone acting – Harry was awfully attractive with that scowl, for some reason. "That's right," he said, and snapped his fingers at Kreacher. "Do you know who I am?"

The house-elf's expression shifted from loathing to unholy glee as he peered up at Draco. "Mistress Bellatrix's nephew, you are, Master Draco. Kreacher knows you, Kreacher is happy to see you, what does Master Draco wish from Kreacher?"

Fawning courtesies from such a decrepit and disgusting figure did not bring Draco any pleasure. "You've been working at Hogwarts, haven't you? So you know the Slytherin chambers. I left unexpectedly in the spring and had no chance to collect my belongings. You are to go to my dormitory and fetch the small chest under my bed, the one bound in iron with the brass lock. Bring it to me here." Draco spoke in the same tones his father had always used to the Malfoy house-elves: firm, commanding, certain of unquestioning obedience.

Kreacher quivered and his rheumy eyes turned reluctantly towards Harry. "Kreacher must have permission, Master Draco."

"Do as he tells you," said Harry, the lack of inflection in his voice suggesting glum defeat.

"Good," said Draco. "And one more thing. Do you know Dobby, who once served my family?"

"Dobby is a bad servant, Kreacher does not want to know Dobby," was the reply.

"Nevertheless you will find him and tell him to come here with you to Master Harry Potter and Master Draco Malfoy. Tell him that first, and then bring my chest to me," said Draco.

"Kreacher will do as Master Draco has bid," and with another sharp noise the house-elf vanished.

Harry grinned. "I think we pulled it off."

"He certainly seemed pleased to be taking orders from me, even if he had to have your permission too," Draco agreed. "While we're waiting, let's narrow down these Transfiguration possibilities." He was not keen on experimenting with his arm – anything might happen – but he owed it to Harry to do what was necessary. And it seemed necessary to make the attempt. Without noticing that he had done so, Draco exhaled a deep sigh.

Warm fingers curled around his own. Harry said, "We won't try anything if you don't want to, Draco. I'd be afraid too."

"Afraid? I'm not afraid," Draco objected, but the clear light in Harry's green eyes, looking steadily at him, neither challenging nor condemning but merely accepting, compelled him to admit, "Well, maybe a little bit. But I'll go through with it."

Harry nodded, "I know you will. Okay, so we have two major possibilities. One, to try changing the Mark itself – Transfigure the skull into some other shape, for example – and since it's burned into your skin, that means part of your skin as well. Two, we could Transfigure your entire arm into something else and then back, and hope that might get rid of it. Can you think of anything else?"

"Not with Transfiguration anyhow. If I could remember how it was put on in the first place, maybe I'd have more ideas, but You-Know-Who must've Obliviated me afterward, because I don't recall anything about it," said Draco.

"That _could_ be a good sign," said Harry doubtfully. "Voldemort might do that because if you remembered how it was made, it would be easy to undo."

"But I don't know of _anyone_ who was able to remove the Mark afterward," said Draco, "and I know that my father, for one, would have done so if he could have found a way, sometime during all those years when we all thought You-Know-Who was dead. If it were this simple he would've figured it out. I know you despise my father, but he's not a fool."

"I never thought it would be simple, but we should still try. Which do you think has the best chance of working? It's your arm, after all."

Draco thought about it. "I'd rather go for the Mark directly. But can you think of any way we could practice beforehand? Because the Mark itself might be spelled somehow to be resistant. I'd like to know that the principle of partially Transfiguring a design would be effective before going for the real thing."

"You don't have any tattoos, do you? That would be the right kind of marking for a trial," Harry said. "Maybe I should have noticed last night, but I didn't."

"No, of course I don't have any. Getting an ear pierced got me in enough trouble." Draco fingered the tiny silver skull.

"But it looks good on you," said Harry, and then turned red.

A compliment on his looks from Harry? Astonishing. "Thanks," said Draco, feeling his own face grow hot. "Er, do you? Have any tattoos, that is, I know you don't have anything pierced." That Draco was sure he would have seen, but a tattoo could be missed, if its location were discreet.

Harry snorted. "There was a rumor going around Hogwarts last year that I had a Hippogriff tattooed on my chest. Ginny got a big rise out of the fourth-year girls by telling them it was actually a Hungarian Horntail. You've seen that neither's true. But... hang on." He held out his left arm. "See there, on the back of my hand, that bluish dot? Before I came to Hogwarts, when I attended a Muggle school, my cousin Dudley stabbed my hand with a biro one day and the ink marked me permanently. That's kind of like a tattoo, I think, or close enough for this. We could try altering it, see if it could be turned into a line instead of a dot, for instance."

Taking Harry's hand, Draco looked at the spot. "You'd be willing to be the experiment? That's very Gryffindor of you. And I mean that in the best way," he added. "Brave. Noble. You know."

"Yeah, I'll do it. Once we figure out what the spell should be, that is," said Harry, his face red once again. "So let's get out those books of Hermione's and do some work."

They were arguing over whether _Permutatio_ or _Reficio_ would be more likely to be effective when two loud pops signaled the return of Kreacher – Draco's chest nearly slipping from his spindly arms – and the appearance of Dobby as well.

"Harry Potter!" squealed Dobby. "What is you doing here, with _him_?"

Draco noticed with interest and some amusement that Dobby avoided speaking a Malfoy's name. To allow Harry to quietly ask Dobby to spy on Kreacher, as they had planned, he called Kreacher over to him.

"Kreacher has no trouble in finding Master Draco's things," the house-elf boasted. "How else may Kreacher serve?"

"You have done well for the house of Black," said Draco. "I need nothing else from you now, but when I do I will have Harry Potter summon you again." That had the right sound to it, implying that Draco was in control, not Harry.

It seemed to go over well with Kreacher, whose face crinkled up in a gloating leer. "Yes, Master Draco. Kreacher will wait for the chance to serve Mistress Black's grandson. He is happy to take the orders of a _proper_ wizard." His obsequiousness was distasteful.

"Yes, I'm sure. Return to Hogwarts now, but do not tell _anyone_ that you have seen either of us, do you understand?"

Kreacher wrung his hands. "Kreacher hears Master Draco's orders, but he must be told by Harry Potter to obey."

"Potter," Draco raised his voice to cut across Harry's conversation with Dobby, "tell Kreacher to do as I command."

"I told you before to do what he wants, and I haven't changed that order," said Harry to Kreacher.

A sly smile spread across the elf's face. "Kreacher will follow Master Draco's wishes."

"Not wishes, orders," Harry corrected. "If he tells you to do something, you will, just as if I had said it, but not otherwise. Do you understand me?"

Now Kreacher's expression returned to that of resentment which seemed to be its natural state. "Kreacher understands," he said sulkily, and vanished.

"Dobby?" Harry turned around.

"Yes, Harry Potter. Dobby will do all he can to help. Dobby will follow Kreacher all the time he is able." Dobby put both hands up to steady the absurdly towering stack of knitted hats that he wore, and like his fellow, disappeared with a crack that echoed from the stone of the buildings.

"Why all the hats?" Draco asked, baffled.

"Dobby's? Oh, Hermione was knitting hats and socks and hiding them around Gryffindor Tower, trying to free all the Hogwarts house-elves by getting them to pick up clothes accidentally. But they figured it out, and Dobby was the only one who would touch any of them, since he's free already. He likes to wear the hats all at once," Harry said.

Draco shook his head. "He was always an odd one, but I wouldn't have expected that. So he agreed to do as you asked."

"Yeah. He'll keep a watch on Kreacher; since the school is closed it shouldn't be too hard. Although there isn't much of anything Kreacher could do, I suppose, not really, but I'll feel better to know that if he goes running of to Bellatrix Lestrange, or someone, Dobby will tell me. He brought you the right trunk? Did he bring the key?"

"It doesn't have a key. Spelled to open only to me." Draco knelt down next to it, pulled out his wand, and tapped the brass keyhole. "_Alohamora_."

The lid sprang open to reveal a shining pile of coins: mostly golden Galleons, with a few Sickles and Knuts mixed in. "Good," said Draco, relieved. "That should last for quite awhile."

"It's going to be a little conspicuous, carrying that chest around with us," said Harry.

"True, I hadn't really thought about that." Draco ran his fingers through his hair, pondering.

"I know, we can use the Invisibility Cloak. Drape it over and use a levitation charm to float the trunk along," said Harry. "As long as we don't let it bump into any Muggles, that should work."

"You have an Invisibility Cloak?" Draco was impressed. Such cloaks were hard to come by, and very expensive. He wondered how Harry had acquired one.

"Yeah. You've seen it, actually, or rather you _didn't_ see it, or me. On the Astronomy Tower, that night." Harry did not need to say which night he meant – Draco knew.

"Oh." He bit his lip. "Right. Er. Sounds like a good plan to me."

Harry dug around in his rucksack. "I'll put it over the trunk now, just in case any Muggles wander past. Not likely but it could happen. One of us can stay here while the other goes to get something to eat, then after lunch we'll try that Transfiguration on me."

"I'll fetch some sandwiches," Draco offered, although he was becoming tired of them and wished for a pumpkin pasty. Muggle taste in food seemed quite limited.

He purchased their lunch without incident, pleased to have sorted out the peculiar paper notes that the Muggles preferred for reasons unknown to sensible solid coins.

After they had eaten, Harry looked at Draco and said, "Ready to try? You should perform the spell, I think." He held out his hand, which trembled slightly as Draco took it.

The evidence that Harry, too, was nervous about this experiment gave Draco a curious feeling, combining relief that he was not alone in his apprehension with a certain disappointment that Harry was not impervious to it. He shook himself mentally. Of course Harry was not invulnerable to nervousness; Draco had seen him clearly worried when he was one of the Triwizard champions, back in fourth year, and just last night the appearance of that Welsh Green had visibly shaken him somewhat.

"If you want." Draco was nervous too. What if he somehow buggered up the spell and hurt Harry, and could not restore him? He pulled out his wand, but hesitated, running his palm over the polished boxwood to calm himself.

"Look, after losing all the bones in my arm to Professor Lockhart's incompetence, and having to have Madam Pomfrey restore them, I have complete confidence that you'll do better," said Harry. "Go on."

"Okay," said Draco, steeling his nerve. "_Permutatio_."

The blue dot on Harry's hand quivered, drawing itself out into a threadlike line that curled around into the shape of a P.

"Did you mean it to do that?" Harry asked, staring at his hand.

"I guess," said Draco. "P for Potter – it was the first thing that came to mind." Which was not quite true, and he was glad not to have created the shape that had originally popped into his head. Harry might not mind a P. He would have doubtless been disgusted to find a heart engraved on his skin. "D'you want me to change it back, now that we know the spell will work at least on an ordinary tattoo-type mark?"

"No, leave it for now," said Harry absently, his eyes still fixed on his hand. "I hardly felt a thing, by the way, just a little tickle. Are you ready for me to try it on you?"

Not really. "I just had a thought," said Draco. "You-Know-Who summons the Death Eaters by touching the Dark Mark on one of... us." He swallowed hard on the last word. "What if this Transfiguration attempt acts like that? We could be surrounded by Death Eaters within minutes."

"I hadn't thought about that, but you're right. What do you want to do, then?"

"Well," Draco said, "we could Apparate somewhere else, try the spell, then Apparate back."

"But if the orientation of the summons is onto the person touched, not the place where it's done, then that wouldn't help," said Harry, frowning. "They'd just come here. It would make more sense for it to be the person, really, or at least that seems more straightforward to me, not that I know how Voldemort thinks. I wonder... Hermione might have a better idea of how it works. She studied the Dark Mark when she was working out the Protean Charm to apply to the D.A. Galleons. But we won't see her and Ron again for three days."

"We could use your Galleon to contact her, ask her to come here, I suppose," said Draco reluctantly. He would rather postpone the whole thing until Wednesday, or longer, although he recognized that it would be shabby of him not to put in some effort and risk, when Hermione and Ron were working to help him out only at Harry's behest.

"I know. Charm the Galleon to say, 'Send Hedwig to Aberdeen.' I can write out a note for Hedwig to take back, then Hermione can reply to tell us what she knows, or if she doesn't know anything then she might have time to start finding out before Wednesday. And she'll probably be less annoyed than if we drag her up here," said Harry.

Draco got the impression that Harry did not especially want to see Hermione in person at the moment. He did not either. He nodded agreement, and Harry gave him the Galleon to charm.

When he had done so, they talked then for awhile. It would doubtless be evening before Hedwig arrived, fast flyer though Harry said she was, and it was still too early to go to King's Halls to their room. Draco lay on the grass with his head resting on Harry's legs, heedless of the dirt and insects and general messiness of the ground, and putting aside all thoughts of Voldemort and the Dark Mark and the danger they were both still in. An unfamiliar feeling washed through him, one that he was finally able to name when Harry smiled down at him and touched his cheek. Draco was happy.


	19. At the University of Aberdeen

**19. At the University of Aberdeen**

The hostel had no twin rooms free that night, but Harry had the idea – a bright one, if he did say so himself – of trying the university. As it turned out had no trouble booking a place for them at King's Halls. A bit more expensive to stay at the university, of course, and Harry knew Draco was concerned about money. When the other boy suggested that Harry could actually summon Kreacher to Aberdeen, and have the house-elf fetch the Galleons Draco had left at Hogwarts, therefore, Harry felt obliged to go along with the plan.

Kreacher was as horrible as ever. Harry and Draco had agreed to pretend that Draco was in charge. Harry hoped that would lessen the chance that Kreacher might reveal what they were up to by complaining, ostensibly to himself, back at Hogwarts. After ordering Kreacher to bring his money-chest, Draco told him to fetch Dobby along when he returned, too. Harry planned to ask Dobby to keep a watch over Kreacher. If Kreacher went off to tell anything to Narcissa Malfoy or Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry wanted to hear about it.

While they waited for the house-elves, they talked about what approach to take in trying to Transfigure the Dark Mark on Draco's arm. It was obvious that Draco was worried about it. To reassure him, Harry said, "We won't try anything if you don't want to, Draco. I'd be afraid too." Hardly thinking about it, he picked up Draco's hand in his own and interlaced their fingers.

Draco denied being afraid at first. No surprise in that. As Harry waited, though, Draco admitted that he was scared, a little, but would try the Transfiguration anyway.

They had thought of two ways to make the attempt: Transfiguring Draco's entire arm to something else and then back, or working on the Mark itself directly. Harry favored the first, Draco the second. Since it was Draco who would be going through with it, Harry deferred to his choice.

For either option the difficulty was in knowing whether it would work at all – this was not an application of Transfiguration that Professor McGonagall had spent much time on, being advanced-level N.E.W.T. work, but waiting until next spring was not exactly an option. Harry suggested that if Draco had some other tattoo, that would be ideal for practice.

"I haven't any tattoos," said Draco. "Getting an ear pierced got me in enough trouble."

"But it looks good on you," Harry said, wondering why Draco had done it if his parents had forbidden it, and even more why the Malfoys would have objected to such a common thing. Perhaps because it _was_ common, and too Muggle-like? He saw that Draco had turned red; realizing that he had complimented Draco's appearance, Harry flushed too. But he meant it. Whether it was the silver skull that Hermione had insisted he take, or the simple ring he had worn before, the flash of metal at Draco's ear made him look somehow harder, more serious.

Draco asked if Harry had any tattoos himself. No proper ones, but... Harry realized that the mark Dudley's biro had left on his hand when he was eight probably qualified as a tattoo, technically anyhow, and he offered it up to Draco as a test to see if their ideas about Transfiguring an ink mark in the skin would work.

Next they had to decide what the proper word would be to cast the spell. They were still arguing about that when first Kreacher and then Dobby appeared with a pair of loud cracks. Draco drew Kreacher's attention to him, allowing Harry to speak with Dobby unheard by the other house-elf.

"What is Harry Potter doing here with _him_?" Dobby asked, his face crinkling with disgust as he nodded his head toward Draco. "Is Harry Potter in trouble? Can Dobby help?"

"Sh, don't let Kreacher overhear you," Harry muttered. "No, I'm not in trouble, or at any rate no more than usual. Draco's the one who needs help now, and I promised I would, for Dumbledore's sake. Will you help me to do that, Dobby? I can order Kreacher what to do, but I don't like it and neither does he; he'll evade my commands if he can. I'm worried that he'll go off and tell Bellatrix Lestrange or Narcissa Malfoy where Draco is and that I'm helping him, and they mustn't know. Could you follow Kreacher for me and make sure he doesn't talk? If he does _anything_ suspicious, in fact, you'd do me a great service if you came to let me know what he was up to."

Dobby seemed about to ask a question when they were interrupted.

"Potter." It sounded strange to hear Draco calling him by his surname again. "Tell Kreacher to do as I command."

Harry seconded Draco's orders, trying his best to act as if he were only doing what Draco wanted. He did stipulate that Kreacher was only allowed to act on specific orders from Draco, not anticipate or guess what he might want done. Kreacher looked resentful, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. Dobby, however, seemed positively gleeful as he promised to follow his fellow elf and report anything untoward to Harry.

The chest that Kreacher had brought to Draco was larger than Harry had expected, and filled with wizarding gold as it was, would be both cumbersome and conspicuous if they carried it. Since Draco seemed to have no immediate ideas for how to conceal it, Harry somewhat reluctantly suggested using his Invisibility Cloak. "We can drape it over the chest and use a levitation charm to float the whole thing along," he said. He felt funny about using the cloak. He had been carrying it around, stuffed into the bottom of his rucksack, but the last time he had worn it was the night that Dumbledore had died.

It was still hours until they could go to King's Halls, though, so after some lunch Harry agreed to let Draco try to Transfigure the mark on his hand, joking that after Professor Lockhart's removing all the bones in his arm, nothing Draco did could possibly be worse. And indeed Harry felt no more than a slight tickling sensation as he watched the blue dot shape itself into a finely-drawn letter P. P for Potter, of course. It was faint, hard to see really, but Harry decided he rather liked it – better a reminder of Draco than one of Dudley – and refused when Draco offered to change it back.

But when Harry was about to attempt the same spell on the Dark Mark, Draco stopped him.

"What if an attempt at Transfiguring the Mark acts like You-Know-Who's summons, when he touches it? We could be surrounded by Death Eaters in minutes."

Harry wondered if Draco was just too scared to be willing to try. On the other hand, Draco had certainly _sounded_ sincere earlier when he had said he would do it, and the thought that Transfiguration might summon the Death Eaters was a reasonable possibility. Neither of them knew _how_ Voldemort used the Dark Mark to make that contact. Harry speculated that Hermione might, since she had studied the Mark when working out the D.A. Galleons.

"We could use your Galleon to ask her to come here today, rather than wait till Wednesday," Draco said, sounding unhappy.

The thought of seeing Hermione so soon after last night made Harry uncomfortable. Hermione had deduced that Harry and Draco had been snogging, before. What if she figured out this time that things had gone so much further? But how else... Hedwig, that was it.

"Charm the Galleon to say 'Send Hedwig to Aberdeen'," Harry told Draco. "I'll write out a note she can take back to Hermione. Then Hermione can either answer by note or decide if it's worth Apparating here, and if she has to look anything up, she'll be where she can do that first."

Hedwig was fast, but she could hardly reach Aberdeen before sometime that night, even if Hermione or Ron saw the message right away. So Harry leaned back against the now-invisible trunk and tried to relax. Really, there was nothing much else they could do for the rest of the afternoon. Draco had his money, Dobby was willing to follow Kreacher as needed, they had decided that Transfiguring the Dark Mark was too risky to attempt without more information. Draco came and sprawled out next to Harry, resting his head on Harry's legs and smiling up at him from under sleek fair hair. The sunlight caught the bones of his face and threw them into sharp relief.

Harry drew one finger across Draco's cheek and along his jawline, ending at his mouth, but when Draco's lips parted Harry snatched his hand away.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to... not here," he said. Not in public. It wasn't as if he had not snogged Ginny in the Gryffindor common room, or out by the lake, but they had had no choice, nowhere to go for privacy really, whereas tonight Draco and he would have a room together, alone. Harry had always been embarrassed by Ron and Lavender's carrying on in front of everyone; he didn't fancy putting himself in the same circumstances, not when he could avoid it.

It seemed that Draco did not share his feelings. A scowl, almost the old Malfoy sneer, twisted Draco's mouth. "What about your fine words last night? I didn't think you'd be ashamed to own up that you like... this."

"I'm not _ashamed_," said Harry, stung. "I'd just rather be in private, that's all. It's not that I'd mind someone knowing, but not watching."

"But there's no one to see us but Muggles. Who cares?" said Draco softly. He took Harry's hand and swept his thumb over Harry's wrist, making him shiver. "And not even any of _them_ have come past here all day. So why not?"

"Draco..." Draco's head was still heavy on his lap, but Harry felt as if there were an enormous gulf between them. How could he explain that it did not matter who saw, Muggle or wizard, he just didn't like it? "Look, I'm not saying no to... well, to whatever. But later. When we're really alone. All right?"

Draco gazed at him unblinkingly, and nodded slowly. "That's a promise, then."

Promise? Had he made a promise? Of what? Harry hoped that Draco did not have any exotic ideas in mind. His own mind kept presenting him with all sorts of bizarre possibilities. Hastily he said, grabbing at the first topic he could think of, "Okay, so we'll wait to hear what Hermione thinks before going on with the Transfiguration plan, but I'd rather not waste all our time until then. You heard in Bath about the Horcruxes. Do you have any ideas about those? Because if I, we, anyone can find and destroy the ones remaining, then there'll at least be a chance of stopping Voldemort, and then it wouldn't matter about the Mark anymore."

"_Stopping_ Voldemort?" There was an odd note in Draco's voice.

"Yeah." Harry's fists clenched involuntarily, pulling Draco's hair and eliciting a sound of protest. "Sorry. Stopping him. _Killing_ him, yeah, I know that's what it will mean. Don't remind me." Just thinking about it made his stomach knot.

"Harry," Draco's voice brought him back from the black reverie, "if it helps... there's _no one_ with a better chance than you. You survived the worst he could try when you were only a baby. You've met him face-to-face and beaten him more than once since. Who else would you trust to fight him?"

Harry shook his head. "My mother saved me once, and died to do it. That won't happen again. And you don't know... okay, yes, maybe _you_ do know what he's like, since he gave you the Mark. I've been lucky, is what it amounts to. And I've had help nearly every time."

"Don't you think you'll have help again?" said Draco. "Weasley... Ron and Hermione, they'd do anything for you, don't you see that? And I know I'm not the person you'd've chosen to trail around with you, but I swore to help you too. You won't be alone. I'm not saying it'll be easy, but you won't be alone. We'll all do everything we can."

"I know," said Harry, "but in the end it'll still be up to me to kill him, and I don't know if I can. Never mind. Before that's even possible there's still the Horcruxes to deal with."

"Remind me what you think they are?"

"Dumbledore was fairly certain that they would be things that were associated with the four Hogwarts founders. Back when he was still called Tom Riddle, Voldemort was almost obsessed with the school and its founders, it was really his only home. Tom Riddle stole two things from an old witch called Hepzibah Smith, a locket of Slytherin's and a cup that was once Helga Hufflepuff's. We were after the Slytherin locket on... that night, but it turned out that someone had beaten us to it years ago and replaced the locket, the Horcrux, with a different locket. As for anything that once belonged to Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, I don't know what they'd be or where; even Dumbledore didn't seem to know for sure."

"What about that phony locket? Wasn't there a note in it, didn't you say that the other night in Bath?" Draco's face was sharp and intent.

"It was a note to Voldemort, taunting him really, signed R.A.B. He said he'd taken the Horcrux and was planning to destroy it, even though he expected to die soon too. D'you want to read it for yourself?"

"Yes."

Harry fished the locket out of his jeans pocket and gave it to Draco. "The note's folded up inside."

Draco looked at the scrappy piece of parchment for a long time. "You don't know who R.A.B. is?"

"Not a clue. Hermione did a bit of research in the library before the term ended, but no one she found with those initials seemed likely."

"I think I might know, but I can't see how that'll help," said Draco.

"You _know_ R.A.B.?" Harry was on his knees, having knocked Draco off his lap onto the ground in his agitation. He hauled him up again, holding the other boy by the shoulders and shaking him. "_Who?_ Who is he?"

"I _think_... he was Regulus Black. Regulus Alphard Black, my mother's cousin," Draco said.

"Of course," breathed Harry. It all fit. R.A.B. had to be someone who had once been a follower of Voldemort, it was the only way to have known where to find the Horcrux, and hadn't Lupin said that Sirius's brother had tried to leave the Death Eaters and died only a few days later? Harry couldn't believe that he had not thought of it for himself; it was even more surprising that Hermione had missed the possibility.

"You're right, though, that doesn't help much with the Horcrux. The note says he'll destroy it, but there's no way of knowing if he did," said Harry, sinking back and sitting down again.

"Leave that one aside for now, then. We'll hope that he did destroy it, or else that some other bit of information turns up. Cup from Hufflepuff, unknowns from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. It might be simpler to try to think where You-Know-Who would have hidden his Horcruxes and go look there and see if there's a likely item," Draco mused. "Do you have any ideas as to where?"

"The Gaunt family ring was in the old Gaunt house – that was Voldemort's mother, Merope Gaunt," Harry explained when Draco looked puzzled. "Slytherin's locket was in a cave where Tom Riddle went as a child. Tom's diary was at Hogwarts when I destroyed it, your father had had it before that, but I don't know where it was kept originally. The only connection I can see between the cave and the Gaunt house is that they were both places significant to Voldemort in some way – but who knows what other places might have been?"

"His father's house?" Draco suggested.

Harry nodded. "That seems possible, although it's obvious enough that I'd be surprised if Dumbledore hadn't searched the place pretty thoroughly, or had someone else do it." A member of the Order of the Phoenix, most likely, but he didn't think Draco knew of the existence of the Order, and didn't want to tell him about it. Not out of mistrust, since Draco could not now betray anything that could harm Harry, but Harry was not a member of the Order and it was not his secret to tell. "But maybe... his father's grave. That's where Wormtail performed the spell to bring him back." Harry ran his fingers over the scar that had marred his arm since that terrible day. "Want to go look tomorrow?"

"All right," Draco agreed. "I've been trying to think if my father ever said anything about where the Death Eaters used to meet, if there were any likely places. I don't think they had special locations where they always went, just wherever was most convenient." He pulled a face. "Sorry, I know that's not much good."

"Yeah, well, we can both keep thinking about it. I'd say Hogwarts was likely, apparently he tried to come back to be a teacher more than once, but when would he have hidden something there? And would he have placed a Horcrux there if he wasn't going to be around?" said Harry.

"He did it elsewhere," Draco pointed out. "At the Gaunt house and the cave both."

"True, but Hogwarts... there are always loads of people about during term time, and even during the holidays there's house-elves and some of the staff, anyone would be spotted who wasn't supposed to be there, wouldn't you think?" Harry said.

"Not if he had an Invisibility Cloak like yours, or was an Animagus," said Draco. "You can't Apparate in or out, but I'm sure there'd be other ways to sneak in too."

"He's not an Animagus, I'm almost sure," said Harry. "Hermione looked up the registration list once. Could be unregistered, like Rita Skeeter," and Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew, and Harry's own father, "but I think that's the sort of thing that would be part of the stories about him, if he could take an animal form. I suppose you're right though, there'd be ways into Hogwarts. So that's another place to look, even though again I expect Dumbledore thought of it and searched there – he could have missed something." Harry sighed. "I'll have to get permission, and it'll take ages to look alone."

"What do you mean, alone? I'll help you, of course." Draco sounded almost insulted.

"Not safe," said Harry. "To be in the same place, day after day? Not to mention that you weren't too keen on letting Professor McGonagall know where you are."

"You don't understand, Harry. The Unbreakable Vow – I promised to 'do my best to help and protect you in any need.' I _have_ to help you, if you need help, I don't have any choice," said Draco.

"I guess I don't understand, no. I thought that was only if my life was in danger or something of the sort."

"No. I didn't restrict it. Stupid of me, I suppose," although Draco did not sound all that self-condemnatory.

"You mean for the rest of my _life_, and yours, you'll have to help me with anything I need help on, or you'll die? That's ridiculous," Harry said.

"Only if I know about it, I think. Magic does have _some_ limitations."

"But it wouldn't help me to know that you were putting your life at risk for me," said Harry desperately. He could not believe that Draco was sitting there talking calmly about what amounted to living in each other's pockets indefinitely. "So if you weren't here, and I went off to Hogwarts to search without you knowing I needed help, then nothing bad could happen to you on account of the Vow, right?"

"That's what I just said."

"Okay, then. Forget about going to Hogwarts any time soon." Harry sighed. "Maybe I could ask Dobby if he knows of anything belonging to one of the Founders, hidden away someplace. I bet the house-elves know loads about the castle, even more than Fred and George ever did." It was an impossible situation. If Harry left Draco and sneaked away to search at Hogwarts, Draco would doubtless guess what he was doing and follow. And if he did that, it would break Harry's promise to protect Draco too. "We'd better stick with the old Riddle house and the graveyard at Little Hangleton for the time being. They'll be much quicker to search anyhow, Hogwarts is enormous and the castle alone would take weeks."

"Whatever you think is best, Harry," said Draco.

"Best?" Harry felt a grim kind of hysterical laugh bubbling up in his chest. "What would be _best_ would be for none of any of this to have ever happened. For Voldemort never to have existed. My parents would be alive, dozens, hundreds of other witches and wizards would be alive and unharmed. Your father wouldn't be in Azkaban. The two of us wouldn't be here, running around the countryside like fools for fear of being traced by Death Eaters. That's what would be best."

Draco curled up with his arms wrapped around his legs, his hip brushing against Harry's knee. "Harry, I'm sorry that your parents are dead, but there's nothing I can do about it. And I'm _not_ sorry that we're here together, or didn't you know that?"

Had Draco somehow planned this? Surely that was impossible, but...

"Did you deliberately phrase the Unbreakable Vow that way?" Harry asked, making his voice as hard as he could.

"No, I didn't," said Draco, lips quirked in a rueful smile. "It may not trouble me as much as you right now, but just think, Harry, it means I'm at your beck and call. Any time you need help of any kind, if I hear about it, I'll have to be there. We're getting along all right now, but what if we fight? I'll start talking about Mudbloods or how the Dark Arts can be useful and you'll get pissed off at me and say you never want to see my face again, but if I find out you're in trouble I'll _have_ to come help you, like it or not. Being someone else's servant, which is what that amounts to, is not something any Malfoy would be pleased about. And no, there's no way to break an Unbreakable Vow, or negate it."

Harry squinted at Draco. "Stuck with each other, then. It's not so one-sided as it seems." To be honest there would be worse people to have bound to himself like this. Draco could be a total git at times, no question of that, but he was neither a fool nor incompetent. Probably about on Harry's own level when it came to wizarding ability, in fact. "What were you saying about the Dark Arts being useful?"

Now Draco's smile became a smirk. "I _knew_ you'd pick up on that. They are, you know. What the Ministry calls the Dark Arts are just the spells and potions and so forth that _it_ thinks are the most dangerous, or that interfere with matters more than the Ministry wants. It's a matter of definition really."

"You're not trying to say you'd defend the Unforgivable Curses, are you?" Harry was torn between curiosity and disgust.

"No... but the Ministry would call that curse you used on me, _Sectumsempra_, a Dark one, don't you think? But if someone really dangerous were after you – that horrible Amycus fellow for instance – wouldn't it be reasonable to use it to defend yourself? Or look at it from another angle. Spells that are thought of as perfectly okay can be used in pretty dubious ways. Like Hermione using the Memory Charm on the bloke at the hostel in Bath to get him to change the room; it was all right for us since we would obviously agree to it, but it might've meant that someone who'd booked the room didn't get it after all, and it interfered with Muggle behavior. So labeling certain bits of magic as Dark Arts and saying that no one should ever perform them is idiotic," Draco wound up.

There seemed to be some sense in Draco's logic, but Harry was not willing to be so easily convinced that there was no line separating the two sorts of magic. "You're saying that it all depends on the circumstances, then, whether using a particular spell can be justified."

"More or less, yes."

"But who judges?" said Harry slowly, thinking it over. "I mean, what if I think I'm in danger and use _Sectumsempra_, maybe killing someone and at least hurting them badly, but the other person didn't actually intend me any harm, so a spell like _Petrificus Totalus_ would have been enough to stop them? That doesn't injure the person it strikes. It seems to me that something that hurts someone ought to always be considered Dark Arts, and forbidden."

"But isn't it fair, if they'd be attacking you to injure or kill you, to strike back equally hard? And more effective to strike first? Anyway, think about it. You've been in the infirmary at Hogwarts loads of times, and you told me about Madam Pomfrey having to regrow all the bones in your arm after Professor Lockhart made them disappear."

"Yeah, she had me drink Skele-Gro."

"What was it like?" asked Draco.

"Nasty-tasting, and it hurt like the dickens when the bones were growing back." Harry saw Draco's point. "Yes, it hurt, but it wasn't a Dark potion! The hurting was incidental, the purpose was to heal me."

"But it's the same thing," said Draco. "If you used _Sectumsempra_, the purpose would be to keep the other person from attacking you; causing injury would not be the reason why you did it."

Harry threw up his hands in defeat. "I wish Hermione were here to debate it with you, because I can't _explain_ why I think you're wrong, but something tells me you are. I think I'd rather snog in public than argue about it any more, though." He managed a weak laugh.

"I wouldn't enjoy it if you didn't, Harry," said Draco, and again he stretched out on the grass next to Harry and rested his head on Harry's legs. "Don't be mad at me for talking about the Dark Arts though. I thought you should hear another point of view about them. What gets taught as Hogwarts is fine so far as it goes, but it's awfully limited and one-sided. I guess I'm used to looking at things from a different perspective than most people."

That could be taken more ways than one, Harry thought, looking down at Draco and this time refraining from touching him, even though his fingers itched to feel that soft/rough skin of his cheek again. Was Draco implying that there was some kind of similarity between accepting the Dark Arts as legitimate magic – some of them anyhow – and being queer? That did not make a lot of sense to Harry, but it did remind him of something that he was curious about, and he had no one else to ask but Draco.

"Okay," his voice squeaked and Harry cleared his throat before continuing. "Different perspective and all that. Er. You've known for ages that you liked blokes, right, that's all very well, but... what made you think I did? I mean, you came asking for help, what if I'd freaked out when you said you fancied me?"

Draco's face was pink. "I didn't know for sure that you did. That night in Godric's Hollow I was so upset I hardly knew what I was saying... and you _made_ me tell you what I was thinking, as I remember, and you were the one who told me to kiss you."

Which was true enough, although it embarrassed Harry a little to remember it.

"If you're wondering if there was something you said or did at Hogwarts... no, there wasn't," Draco continued. "All the gossip had you keen on Cho Chang for ages, and then Ginny Weasley. Right now I only know of," he paused, and Harry could see his lips move as he counted, "seven blokes at school who are queer, and that's counting both of us. No wait, one was a seventh-year, so then it's six now."

Who were they all? And how did Draco know? Harry was too curious not to ask.

"Word of mouth," said Draco. "You know. Gossip... but mostly reliable. As to who, well, mostly they're like me, don't necessarily want it talked about – would you, if you didn't know who was saying what about you? I'll give you some hints, though. The other four still in school that I know about, one's a Slytherin, and there's two Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff. The one who left school was a Gryffindor. And I'll say, too, that one's in our year, one in the year below, and two were only fourth-years last term. Precocious little buggers So put your thinking cap on and you might figure it out."

Harry's head was spinning. Who had the other Gryffindor been? And who else in their year could be queer? He had never noticed anything, never heard any gossip... but he was quite certain that Draco had said as much as he was going to. Harry hoped, a little forlornly, that Draco knowing about five other boys did not mean he had actually _shagged_ them all. Then he wondered why he cared. It was plain that Harry was not Draco's first, so what did it matter how many more there had been?

Draco was watching him. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Come on, let's go find this King's Halls place and stash away our gear."

The girl who gave them a room key said that the takeaway down the street had decent pizzas, so they went there and brought some back to their room. Harry thought it was quite good, although Draco grumbled that the tomato sauce was too sweet. The Slytherin also sniffed a bit at the room, wondering aloud how Muggle university students could bear such accommodations, so much less comfortable than the students' dormitories at Hogwarts, but he cheered up when they opened one of the remaining bottles of wine.


	20. In Little Hangleton

**20. In Little Hangleton**

Draco wondered what perversity it was in Harry that made him such a tease. It had to be deliberate. One second he was stroking Draco's face and holding his fingers to be kissed, the next he was declaring that he didn't want to do anything even remotely affectionate with Draco except in private. At least he indicated that he would not object to something along those lines, later, and Draco fully intended to hold him to that.

Since Harry refused to consider the possibility of a little quiet snogging where they were, they talked over possibilities for coping with Voldemort's Horcruxes instead. Two had already been destroyed, meaning there were probably four left, if Voldemort had split his soul into seven pieces. Professor Dumbledore had thought he had found another, but it had turned out to be a phony. When Harry mentioned that, Draco asked to see the note left with the substitute.

The parchment was grubby and worn at the creases, as if Harry or someone had unfolded and reread it scores of times. Draco looked at the handwriting. He was almost certain that he had seen it before somewhere, but it took him several minutes to place the oddly spiky "R" of "R.A.B." On a photograph! That was it. Draco's mother had a collection of family portraits in the drawing room, most of them signed. This "R" looked very like the one on the photograph of cousin Regulus, dead long before Draco could remember. What had his full name been? Regulus Black, Regulus... hadn't he been named after an uncle?

"I _think_," said Draco, "I _think_ it must have been my mother's cousin, Regulus Alphard Black."

Harry seemed stunned, but Draco could not see why Harry should think he ought to have guessed it earlier. Regulus was no relation of his. Besides, knowing who had probablywritten the note and stolen the Horcrux did nothing to tell them if he had actually destroyed it as he had promised. Draco had heard rumors in the family that cousin Regulus had been killed by Voldemort for betrayal, trying to leave the Death Eaters, and it could have happened before he had time to deal with the Horcrux. There was no way to know.

Since there seemed little chance that they could guess what other objects might be Horcruxes, Draco suggested that a more practical approach would be to try to deduce what places Voldemort might have chosen to hide them, and search there. Harry mentioned that Little Hangleton was a likely spot, where the Riddle family house had been and where Voldemort's father was buried. Draco learned that Voldemort had originally been called Tom Riddle, son of the witch Merope Gaunt. Riddle... that was not the name of any wizarding family as far as Draco knew, and he was certain he knew every such family in England, in fact in all of Britain, and a fair few of the European families as well. Had Riddle been Voldemort's father's true name? If so, that must mean he was a half-blood wizard himself. Draco wondered if his father had any idea of that, that he had tied the Malfoy fortunes to those of a man who lacked the honor of a pure blood ancestry, powerful though he might be. He wished he could tell Lucius Malfoy what he had found out.

As well as Little Hangleton, Harry thought that Hogwarts itself was a possible hiding place for the Horcruxes, although, as he said, "I expect Dumbledore searched there. But he could have missed something, and it'll take ages to search alone."

"You won't have to look alone," Draco reminded him. "I'll help you, of course."

Harry demurred, saying that it might not be safe for Draco to be in the same place every day, not if Voldemort could trace him through the Dark Mark as Snape had hinted.

"That doesn't matter. You don't understand, Harry. Because of the Unbreakable Vow, I _have_ to help you if you need help and I know of it," said Draco. "I haven't any choice. The Vow was unrestricted, so it's not just if you're in danger, it's _any_ kind of help you might need."

Draco had realized the implications of the Vow before, but this was the first time he had spelled them out to Harry, who did not seem terribly keen on the notion. But it could not be helped; there was no way to negate an Unbreakable Vow, or break it, without causing Draco to die. It was not an entirely comfortable thought for Draco, knowing that will he or nill he, he was now tied to Harry forever. Just at the moment, all was well, but they had such different ideas, different backgrounds, different ways of doing everything – could they really get along indefinitely? They would both have to be willing to tolerate each other's assumptions of How Things Should Be. Draco decided to test Harry's capacity for rethinking some of his preconceptions. He casually brought up the idea that perhaps not all of the magic usually referred to as the Dark Arts was, in fact, necessarily evil.

At first Harry tried to argue that any spell or potion that caused pain must be Dark. He had to give up that position when Draco reminded him that some healing potions hurt the person who drank them. Then Harry fell back on arguing purpose: if the purpose was good, something that hurt would not be Dark magic.

Again Draco was able to counter Harry's argument, saying, "If you used _Sectumsempra_ to keep someone from attacking you, the purpose would be self-defense, and that's perfectly reasonable, but the Ministry would still say it was a Dark Arts curse."

He left it at that for the time being. Harry had nothing more to defend his own viewpoint anyway. Draco did not expect to change Harry's mind so quickly, he just hoped to open it a little to a different perspective.

Their little discussion provoked Harry to think about something wholly unconnected, at least as far as Draco was concerned, because the next words out of Harry's mouth were, "Okay, so, you've known for ages that you liked blokes. Well, but what made you think _I_ might?"

Harry's question struck Draco as, perhaps, a good sign. He might not want to snog in public, but Draco could tolerate that. Talking about fancying boys was still a step in the right direction as far as Draco was concerned.

"I didn't _know_," said Draco. "I was so far gone that first night I hardly knew what I was saying, and if I'm not mistaken you made me tell you, and you definitely told me to kiss you. Before that, at Hogwarts? No. There was never any gossip about you, not like that, and I'd've heard if there were." He wished he _had_ heard something of the sort, as he might have done something about it sooner. "I know of five other blokes at school who are queer, not counting you or me. Well, six now, there was one who was in his seventh year last year."

When Harry asked, "Who?" Draco could see the curiosity naked in his eyes.

At that, Draco hesitated. The boys he knew of were not all even as open about their preferences as he was, and although he trusted Harry for himself, it was not really fair to any of them. Besides, if Harry _did_ talk, and the rumor were traced to Draco, there could be some repercussions that Draco did not at all wish to risk. So he told Harry which Houses they belonged to, and which years in school they were, and left him to catch that unicorn for himself. Harry was plainly mesmerized by the whole notion – but surely he hadn't thought Draco was the only boy at Hogwarts who was queer, not when Draco had made no bones about the fact that his preference for boys was based on experience?

Talking was all very well, but Draco would rather _do_. He pointed out that it was late enough to go to their room at King's Halls. He spelled the Invisibility Cloak-covered chest full of Galleons to float along with them, and luckily there were not many Muggles about so they did not have to worry about someone bumping into it by accident.

They fetched in pizza to eat in the room, and opened a bottle of wine. Draco was about to suggest that they pick up the thread of their earlier conversation when a rap on the window startled them both.

"Hedwig!" said Harry, opening the window to let in the snowy owl and offering her a half-eaten pizza crust, at which she turned up her beak. He untied the message from her leg and unrolled the parchment.

"Hermione wants to know what we're up to. And she says that Ron was able to talk to Mad-eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt, and they both sounded quite sure that Voldemort _can't_ use the Mark to trace you directly, whatever Snape might've said," Harry said after reading the note.

So Professor Snape had lied, but why? To frighten Draco? To get him to leave Spinner's End? To make him run in hopes that another Death Eater would find him and eliminate him?

When Draco voiced his speculations, Harry said, "To make you come find _me_?"

"Perhaps, he suggested you might help, but why would he do that?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno."

"Strange. I don't suppose it's likely I'll ever have the chance to ask him and find out," said Draco, shaking his head. "But you know what this means, we don't have to keep moving to different places every day after all. If it takes several days to search the Riddle house and the graveyard at Little Hangleton, it won't be dangerous to me; and same at Hogwarts, I can help you there too, if you can get permission to get in."

"Yeah," but Harry did not sound very excited.

"What's wrong? Aren't you glad not to have to keep moving every day? You said before that you didn't like that," Draco said.

"Nothing. Later. I need to write this note to Hermione so that Hedwig can go back tonight. Come on, help me so I don't forget anything."

The message as they finally sent it read:

_Dear Hermione,_

Thanks for letting me know that Draco can't be traced through the Mark. But I have another question about it that maybe you can answer. We were going to try Transfiguration as you suggested, we came up with a spell that ought to change the shape of the Mark although not remove it, but Draco was worried that might act on it like Voldemort's touch and summon the Death Eaters. Anything you might know would be helpful. We're planning to go to Little Hangleton tomorrow, so you can either send Hedwig or come yourself if you'd rather and have the time. Otherwise we'll see you and Ron on Wednesday, sending location to meet via Hedwig or with the Galleon.

Harry  
P.S. Draco thinks R.A.B. was Regulus Black. I think he might be right.

As the white owl flew off southward, Draco poured another round of wine into the flimsy plastic cups that had been provided and handed one to Harry. He took a swallow from his own, saying, "All right, so it's later. Why don't you like the fact that apparently I can't be traced through the Mark after all?"

In a tight voice, Harry said, "It doesn't matter. Don't worry about it."

They had not bothered to switch on the electric light in the room when they had first come in, as the window faced south and there had been plenty of light in the early evening. Now, though, it was growing dim, and Draco could not read the expression on Harry's face. Nor could he understand Harry's attitude, so he persisted, "It does matter to you, obviously. So tell me."

Harry was silent, holding the cup to his lips but not drinking. Draco waited.

At last Harry said, "It's hard to explain. Look, you came to me last week. I was in the village where my parents lived and died, planning to go visit their graves and then start doing what I could to go after the one who had killed them, who tried to kill me more than once. Suddenly you turn up and all my plans fall apart, because you're in such trouble that even though we've spent years despising each other, you turn to me as your best chance of safety, and I agree to help you run and hide.

"On top of that I find out," Harry paused and Draco could hear him swallow, "I find out you fancy me, and that's an even bigger shock than having you come to me for help. And then you take that Unbreakable Vow, and suddenly we're tied together in a weird sort of way for the rest of our lives. Which should be a terrible thing, and the fact that it doesn't bother me as much as I think it should bothers me even more, if that makes any sense at all.

"So... if you hadn't thought that Voldemort could track you, none of any of this would've happened. You'd be off with Snape or back home or something, I'd've gone looking for the Horcruxes, everything would be fine, as it's supposed to be. One lie by Snape and now it's all so complicated that I don't know what to think. I don't even know how I feel about any of it right now." His voice thickened. "I'm angry, but the person to be angry at really is Snape. He's not here so the only one I can yell at is you, and that's not fair, is it?"

"Not fair," Draco agreed, "but I can understand why you would be. I'm angry at Professor Snape myself. I needn't have spent all that time sleeping in Muggle back gardens before I tracked you down, for instance. Going home would've been unwise, I expect, someone could well be watching for me there to take me off to Voldemort, but Professor Snape could have warned me about that, he didn't need to send me chasing all over the country. I'm not such an idiot as to ignore good advice when my skin is at stake."

"Yeah. I used to hate him and you about equally, in different ways, but he's way ahead now, let me tell you."

"Way ahead?" Harry hated him? Concern fluttered in Draco's stomach.

"I still have some leftover annoyance from all that time at Hogwarts," said Harry. "Breaking my nose last autumn? C'mon. I guess 'hate' is too strong a word, though. Especially after last night."

"Last night was only the first night. I hope," said Draco. "You did say that you wouldn't say no tonight?" He ended it as a question rather than a statement, thinking that Harry, the good Gryffindor that he was, would inevitably refuse an offered escape.

And so he did. Luckily Draco remembered to cast a couple of spells to seal the door and ensure that no sounds could be heard outside the room, because both of them got quite noisy at various times. He did not push Harry to do anything beyond a hand job, thinking that to rush things would only make the other boy too uncomfortable to have fun. And Draco intended that he should enjoy it, and want more.

He would have liked to sleep in the same bed again, afterwards, but they were just too narrow for comfort, or so Harry insisted when Draco suggested it. Being in the same room had to be enough for tonight. Perhaps tomorrow they could do better.

The breakfast that was included in the price of the room was convenient, but that was about all Draco was willing to say for it. The scrambled eggs were watery and the tomatoes tasted disgustingly of tin. Yesterday's sandwiches in the cave had been preferable. He was glad when Harry finished his toast and they could leave.

It took a certain amount of careful maneuvering to get Draco's trunk, once again concealed by Harry's Invisibility Cloak, out of the building. There was a moment when a Muggle girl passed them on the stairs and Draco was sure that the trunk had bumped into her, but she said nothing, only looked a little confused. Harry grinned conspiratorially at Draco as they left the building.

"Ready to start searching?"

Draco nodded, hoisting his rucksack onto his shoulders. They Apparated together.

The graveyard was small and poorly kept. One or two graves had been recently trimmed, but over most the long grass lay in tangled swathes. Harry pointed at a group of stones set a little apart, taller than most.

"Those belong to the Riddle family."

Draco saw him shiver. Before he could say anything, though, Harry stepped in a careful half-circle, avoiding a patch of grass that looked like every other bit Draco could see, and turned back to add in flat tones, "Cedric died here."

Walking the same circuitous path that Harry had, Draco followed him to the Riddles' stones, the trunk floating behind. He released the spell and let it settle to the ground behind one of the other headstones, next to a scraggly overgrown juniper. It would be all right there for the time being.

"I don't actually expect that Voldemort would have hidden the Horcrux out here," said Harry as they searched. "Not safe enough, really, not with regular villagers' funerals and all that. Someone might notice an unexpected object."

After more than an hour of looking, Draco was certain that Harry was correct. If Voldemort had chosen to associate one of his Horcruxes with his father's family, it must be in the house. Luckily Harry seemed to know where that was, although he did not explain how. Draco had worried that they might have to ask someone, which could well have aroused suspicions – two teenagers inquiring to find a deserted house? Wizard or Muggle, no adult would trust that. A Memory Charm would take care of the problem, but Draco's abilities at those were unfortunately limited. It was a skill he regretted not having mastered as yet. He could easily have performed the Unlocking Charm on the door, however, had Harry not beaten him to it. They slipped inside quickly, Draco levitating his cloak-covered trunk behind them, and closed the door.

"Put it down over there, but bring my cloak with you," said Harry, his voice echoing in the empty hallway. "I doubt anyone will come in here, but that would let us hide if they should."

Draco obeyed, floating the chest into a corner. It looked quite natural there, in fact, just a bit of furniture that had been too unimportant to take away. He folded the cloak up carefully and wedged it into the top of his rucksack. Surely if any Muggle _did_ happen to venture into the house while they were there, they would hear the noise in plenty of time to pull it out and hide.

Harry hesitated, looking at the stairs curving upward to the first floor.

"Shall we go through together, room by room? I think it would be most sensible to search all of one floor, then on to the next," offered Draco. "And if the Horcrux _is_ here, there's likely to be protective spells on it, right? Having two of us present is probably safer than one."

"You sound like Hermione," said Harry, and grinned. "Yeah, we'll do that."

Like Hermione? Strangely, Draco did not find the comparison offensive as he knew he would have done even ten days before. Perhaps it was because Hermione was one of Harry's best friends, next to Ron, and being told he was like her meant that Harry thought of Draco as a friend too. Well, not quite, Draco decided as Harry took his hand and they went into the first room to search. He doubted that Harry would take every excuse to touch Hermione or Ron the way he was doing to Draco. Little touches, only, but Draco knew what they must mean.

There was no furniture remaining in this room. They did not assume that meant no Horcrux could be hidden in it, though, and used their wands to tap along the walls, sounding for any hidden compartments. At one spot Draco thought he had found a hollow and called Harry over excitedly. Further investigation proved that it was only a place where the plaster had cracked loose, much to their disappointment.

Room by room they went over the ground floor. Some retained a few pieces of furniture or curtains, now tattered by generations of industrious moths and mice. None held any trace of an object that could possibly be a Horcrux. When they reached the kitchen, they realized that it was well past lunchtime.

"D'you want me to go fetch something?" Draco offered.

Harry shoved his glasses up his nose. "I'd rather not go into the village. It's too small, someone might ask questions about where we'd come from."

"I could Apparate somewhere else instead."

"Or we could finish with this floor of the house and call it a day, go off to find some dinner and somewhere to spend the night," said Harry. "If you're not too hungry to wait?"

Draco was, rather, but he said, "That's all right. There's only two rooms left on this floor, I think, after the kitchen. Shouldn't take too long."

They were just beginning the final room when a tapping on the glass interrupted them. Harry's owl perched awkwardly on the sill. Harry struggled to open the window, but the wood of the frame had warped and stuck, so they went around to the kitchen entrance and let her in there instead.

"Thanks, Hedwig," said Harry, removing the parchment. "Let's see what Hermione says."

_Dear Harry,_

Draco may be right about a Transfiguration attempt summoning the Death Eaters, so don't try it for the moment. If the two of you will come to the Burrow tonight, I'll see what other information I can gather during the day. Ron says that his mum is convinced you can't be eating properly and is threatening to track you down just to feed you, so you'd better come, both of you.

Hermione

Draco bit at a knuckle, realized what he was doing and yanked his hand back to his side. It was good to know that someone else thought his apprehension about Transfiguring the Mark was justified. On the other hand, he could have done without the command to go to the Weasleys', where, he suspected, they would end up being pressed to stay overnight. He held back his first instinctive protest and waited to hear Harry's response.

"Great," said Harry happily. "Mrs. Weasley's a wonderful cook, and we can talk with Hermione and Ron about where we're looking for the Horcruxes, as well as about the Mark."

The sigh that escaped Draco was unintentional, he assured himself. That it made Harry turn to him with concern was purely chance.

"You don't want to go to the Weasleys'?"

"No," said Draco.

"Look, if it's this blood traitor business, you have to get over that," said Harry. "I know, you're a Malfoy, it's probably written in some ancestral tome that you're not allowed to associate with Weasleys, but if you're going to be with me, you have to. Ron's been my best friend since the first day I went to Hogwarts, and his parents have treated me almost like another son."

"If you're going to be with me..." The words echoed in Draco's ears. Yes. Oh yes.

He said, "I'm not concerned whether the Weasleys are blood traitors, Harry. My parents would consider me one now myself."

"What's the problem, then?"

Draco said quietly, "Will Ginny be there?"

The blood drained out of Harry's face, leaving his eyes greener than ever below the darkness of his tousled hair. "I expect she will be. Oh, hell."

Hell was what it sounded like, yes. Draco was under no illusions that just because Harry had enjoyed what the two of them had done together, the other boy did not still have feelings – strong ones, he suspected – for the Weasley girl. To describe the situation as ruddy awkward would be to massively understate it.

"_You_ don't have to go there, though," said Harry. "I mean, you could go stay by yourself in a hostel somewhere, just tonight, it should be safe enough, and I can go to the Burrow alone and learn whatever Hermione's found out. We can meet here again tomorrow morning to keep searching."

"That would be stupid of me, wouldn't it though? If there's some kind of test that Hermione can make on the Dark Mark, I'd have to be there, for instance," Draco said. Not to mention that if he refused to visit the Burrow because of Ginny Weasley, he would seem a coward, to Hermione who had guessed the truth, to himself, and most importantly to Harry. "No, I'll go. But, er... I'd rather not share a room with you and Ron, if it can be managed. I don't know if that's possible..."

"Oh, I think that'll be all right," Harry interrupted him, looking relieved. "I'll ask Mrs. Weasley if she can put you in Fred and George's old room, or maybe Percy's. Though she'll expect me to bunk in with Ron as usual, no doubt. Hermione usually shares with Ginny."

"All right," said Draco. "Let's finish up with this search for today. You said that Mrs. Weasley is a good cook, right? I hope so, I'm starving."

"She's great," said Harry enthusiastically, and for the rest of the time they spent searching he chattered on about the Weasley family, telling Draco more than he had ever wanted to know about them.

I hope this isn't a mistake, was Draco's final thought, as, laden with rucksacks, trunk, and owl, they Apparated to the Burrow.


	21. At the Burrow

**21. At the Burrow**

Harry snagged the last slice of now-cold pizza before Draco could. He was trying to think of a way to go back to their conversation about who else at Hogwarts was queer – he had a guess or two about that – when a familiar tap sounded at the window.

"Hedwig!" He was delighted that she had managed to find him, and tried to give her one of the leftover pizza crusts. She would not eat it but dipped her beak into his plastic cup of water, then hooted at him softly. He took the message off her leg.

_Dear Harry,_

What on earth are you doing? I thought you were worried that You-Know-Who might have a spy watching for Hedwig. Ron went and checked with both Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad-Eye Moody, and neither of them thinks that Y.K.W. can locate his Death Eaters directly through the Dark Mark – so Professor Snape was wrong to have told Draco that. You should still be careful though!

Hermione

When Draco heard that the two Aurors had as much as said that Snape had lied about Voldemort tracing him through the Mark, he looked stricken, or so Harry thought, although Draco covered it well, speculating about why Snape might have said what he did.

Harry suspected Snape had done it to make Draco search for Harry, despite there being no obvious motive for such an action. It was mostly a feeling that Snape would do anything he could to make Harry's life miserable, and he could reasonably have expected that saddling Harry with Draco would have that effect.

It did not really matter why Snape had done it, as Draco pointed out. They no longer had to worry in the same way about being careful to move on every day to a new place, and he would be able to help Harry search for Horcruxes at the Riddle house in Little Hangleton and at Hogwarts, too. The thought did not bring Harry much comfort. He had wanted to find the Horcruxes by himself, without even Ron and Hermione's help. It should be his own responsibility to do what was necessary to defeat Voldemort. Having Draco along would diminish that, but he shrank from revealing his feelings; they seemed petty, put into words, maybe even insulting.

Instead he asked Draco to help him write a quick reply to Hermione so Hedwig could take it back that night. Their message asked if she knew whether an attempt at Transfiguring the Dark Mark might not act as a summons to the Death Eaters, and told her they planned to go to Little Hangleton the next day. Harry added a postscript to say that Draco had suggested that R.A.B. had been Regulus Black, which seemed entirely likely to him.

After Hedwig had departed for the Burrow, Draco poured them some wine and asked, "All right, why are you upset by the fact that I can't be traced through the Mark after all?"

Harry had not realized that Draco could read him so easily. Reluctantly, he tried to explain. It was not that he resented Draco in particular for having overturned his plans; he would have been unhappy whoever had done it. The Vow that Draco had taken made the whole situation more complicated, though, precisely because it _didn't_ upset Harry as much as he thought it should have done.

What he did not spell out for Draco was how uncertain he was about how he felt towards the other boy. It was more than just lust, though that was definitely a part of it. It was not the same kind of protective ardor he felt towards Ginny, nor was it simply friendship. He did not know quite _what_ it was, and he did not want to think about it right now, and needing to do so made him angry at Draco for making him so confused and angrier still at Snape who had put them both in this position in the first place. If Snape had not lied, Draco would not be here, and Harry would not have to worry about how he felt about Draco.

Admitting that he was angry at Snape, and even a bit at Draco, was safe enough as an explanation for his irritation. Harry was relieved when Draco said that he was also angry at his former Head of House as well for sending him chasing pointlessly all over the country.

"It's the kind of malicious thing I'd expect from him. I used to hate the two of you about equally, but he's pulled way ahead now," Harry said.

"Way ahead?" Draco's face fell.

Oh. "Well, you did break my nose last autumn," said Harry, "but 'hate' is too strong a word... especially after last night. Call it leftover annoyance."

"I hope last night was only the first night... you weren't going to say no tonight, were you?" Draco said, his expression one of confident desire, belied somewhat by the vulnerability in his eyes.

How could Harry resist? "No, I won't say no," Harry told him, and found himself caught up in a tomato-and-wine-flavored kiss that led by stages to rather more, culminating for Harry when he came so intensely that for a moment he could not see. He hoped that he had done as well for Draco, but was too diffident to ask.

Draco wanted to sleep in the same bed together, but Harry refused. "They're too narrow, neither of us would sleep well, and we have a lot to do tomorrow. I'd like to search the graveyard first, and then start on the old Riddle house."

He was reluctant to return to the graveyard at Little Hangleton, and when they had Apparated there, carefully avoided walking over the spot where Cedric Diggory had died. He appreciated that Draco did the same, although he said nothing. Maybe having someone with him in this search would be less intrusive than he thought... but it was still not his idea.

As it happened, the graveyard yielded no trace of a Horcrux, and they could have avoided it – except that it was better to be certain not to overlook any possibility. The Riddle house was more promising, both for its size and number of potential hiding places, and also because Harry knew that Voldemort had stayed in the house for some time, two years before, which suggested a strong attachment to it.

Draco had been levitating his chest of Galleons along behind himself this whole time, disguised under Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Now he let it settle in a corner of the hallway. Harry told him to bring the cloak along as they searched, thinking that in the unlikely event that any Muggles turned up, they could use it to hide. He watched as Draco tucked it in his rucksack, noting in a corner of his mind how neatly Draco folded the cloak, whereas Harry would have simply shoved it in anyhow.

He was trying to decide whether it would be best to split up and search separately or not. It would be faster, but he was reluctant to let Draco search by himself; not that Harry knew what a Horcrux would look like either, but he hoped he might somehow recognize one if he saw it, since he had seen and destroyed Tom Riddle's diary. Draco certainly had no such experience. What if he overlooked something that Harry might not?

As Harry hesitated, Draco said, "We could go through together, room by room. If there are any protective spells on the thing, it would probably be safer to have two people there."

"You sound as practical as Hermione," said Harry, grinning, happy that Draco had been the one to propose working together. For all that he had wanted to conduct the whole search alone, it was reassuring to have someone else there. And if he was present, he could feel that he was responsible for any success. "Let's do that, then."

It took the whole morning and into the early afternoon to search through most of the ground floor rooms. They had agreed to skip lunch and go find an early dinner when they finished with that floor, and were about to begin the final room when Hedwig returned with another note from Hermione.

This time she said that she thought Draco's apprehension that Transfiguring the Mark could summon the Death Eaters might be justified, and that she would do some more research but they had better come to the Burrow that night to talk it over instead of waiting two more days.

"Great, I'm sure Mrs. Weasley will give us a good dinner, and we can talk about the Horcruxes too," Harry said excitedly, before he noticed Draco's evident lack of enthusiasm. "You don't want to go?"

"No," said Draco flatly.

"Why not? If you're still thinking of the Weasleys as blood traitors, not to be associated with, get over it – Ron's been my best friend since I first went to Hogwarts, and his parents treat me almost like another son. So if you're going to be with me, you'll have to deal with that."

"I'm not worried about them being blood traitors, Harry, I'm one myself now – or so my family would say."

"So, what's the problem?"

Draco's voice was toneless. "Will Ginny be there?"

"Oh, hell," said Harry. "Yeah, I expect she will." His thoughts chased wildly around his head. Would Ginny be able to look at him and _tell_ that he had been fooling around – more than that, he admitted, a lot more – with Draco? Hermione had guessed, after all, and Ginny had a lot more reason to care. Dean always claimed that he could spot a non-virgin. What if Ginny could do that? Was Harry not really a virgin now, after what he had Draco had done? He didn't know, and it worried him.

There was no way that Harry could legitimately avoid going to the Burrow when Hermione was so insistent, but...

"_You_ don't have to go, Draco, you could stay alone in a hostel somewhere just for tonight, and we could meet here tomorrow morning."

"That would be stupid. What if there's some kind of test or measurement that Hermione needs to make on the Mark? No, I'll go," said Draco, biting his lip. "Just, er, if we're asked to stay the night, I'd rather not share a room with you and Ron, if that's possible?"

"They probably _will_ want us to stay, but it should be all right. I expect Mrs. Weasley'd put you in Fred and George's old room, or maybe Percy's. She'll put me in with Ron, I always share his room, just like Hermione stays in Ginny's." Harry still felt apprehensive about the prospect of Draco at the Burro, but relieved that Draco was not going to insist that the two of them share a room. That would be awfully hard to explain.

He spent the rest of the time until they left, as they searched through the last ground-floor room of the Riddle house, talking about the Weasleys and the Burrow and speculating on what Mrs. Weasley might make for dinner, too nervous about what Ginny might think or say or do to notice that Draco made only the tersest responses to his chatter.

The Burrow had its familiar tottering and ungainly appearance when they Apparated into the back garden. To Harry it was homely and beautiful, though he heard Draco sniff and elbowed him in the ribs.

"Be polite."

"Wasn't I polite at the Grangers'?"

"Yeah, you were. Okay, come on then."

Hedwig soared before them as they walked up to the door, which flew open before they were within ten yards. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny burst out, all talking at once.

"Harry, you're here!" Ginny hugged him, letting go quickly when he patted her awkwardly on the back.

"We didn't think you'd get here till dinner-time," said Ron.

"Hello, Draco," Hermione said. "Here give me that rucksack – Ron, you take Harry's – let's get all this inside first."

Harry was absurdly grateful to Hermione for having greeted Draco when the two Weasleys had ignored him. This might not be so bad after all. He felt relaxed enough that he let Ginny take his hand as they followed the other three inside.

"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said as they trooped through the kitchen, "go on up, you know where everything is. Ron, I've put fresh sheets on the bed in Percy's room, show Draco that. You _are_ staying, aren't you?" she added, wiping her hands on her apron as she hurried forward to envelop Harry in a hug.

"Yes, thank you," he said breathlessly as she let him go. "It's very nice of you."

"Not at all, not at all. Go on, boys, dinner's not for two hours. Ginny, I need your help just for a few minutes, please."

"Mum'd keep you here forever if she could, Harry," said Ron in an undertone as they headed towards the stairs. "She's been going on and on about how dangerous what you're doing is, and how you're underage, and all that."

"Only for three more days," Harry pointed out.

"Yeah, I know, but that doesn't matter to her. 'He's still in school,'" Ron mimicked. "'He should leave this to older and wiser wizards and concentrate on his studies.' She doesn't know you're not planning to go back."

"You ought to, really," said Hermione earnestly, turning around and stopping. "I know it's important to find the Horcruxes and destroy them as soon as possible, before You-Know-Who and his followers get any stronger, but don't you think you'll be better prepared if you finish with your N.E.W.T.s first? Especially Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Charms and Transfiguration as well."

"I've made up my mind," Harry said. "Don't try to get me to change it. It's the only thing to be done. Even Dumbledore was putting finding the Horcruxes first most of last year, he was away from the school half the time, remember?"

Hermione sighed, but did not argue further, only being unnecessarily loud as she clumped upward.

"Are you really leaving Hogwarts?" Draco murmured to Harry as they dropped Draco's rucksack and chest off in the room he would be using. It was as tidy as when Percy had had it, but with no remaining sign of the third Weasley son. Harry wondered which parent had cleared every trace of him away.

"Yeah." Harry nodded firmly. "C'mon."

They went up three more flights to let Harry leave his rucksack in Ron's room. Then the four of them went back downstairs and outside to talk.

Sitting cross-legged in the grass, Hermione asked Draco a lot of detailed questions about the Dark Mark and what he knew of how the summoning was done, most of which Draco was unable to answer to her satisfaction. After about fifteen minutes of this, and seeing Draco look crosser and crosser although still being fairly polite, Harry was almost happy when Ginny came out of the house to join them.

"So it darkens when he touches it," Hermione was saying. "Perhaps a Transfiguration of color alone first... to the color of your skin, maybe..." she trailed off, tapping one finger against her knee.

"Go look it up then, you know you want to," said Ron. "Now that Ginny's here, the rest of us could play a quick game of two-on-two Quidditch before dinner, there's enough time."

"All right," said Hermione, and blinked. "Draco, you can use my broom if you want, it's in the shed."

"Thanks," said Draco.

"It's the Comet 260," she called back over her shoulder as she disappeared inside.

"That'll be great, it's what I flew at home for years," Draco said to Harry as they walked toward the shed. "It's awfully nice of her to lend it to me."

Harry nodded. He had left his Firebolt at the Weasleys', and ran his hand lovingly over the polished handle when he picked it up.

"I flew it a couple of times," said Ron. "Just as a change from the Cleansweep, you know."

"Well, I said you could, didn't I?" Harry replied cheerfully. "Shall we toss to choose sides?" He absolutely did not want to have to express a preference for a Quidditch partner.

"Well, both you and Malfoy usually Seek, so you shouldn't be on the same team. We'll toss to see whether you play with me or Ginny," Ron said. "Ginny, you call it."

Ginny called tails, and lost, which left Ron and Harry playing against Ginny and Draco – perhaps the best arrangement Harry could have hoped to get. Both Ginny and Draco put on expressions of determined politeness as they mounted their brooms and took off. Harry swooped and soared, getting used to the feel of his broom again. It was thrilling to be riding once more. Apparating was all very well, but there was something much more exciting about feeling the wind rushing past one's face.

For a four-player game, they used the Quaffle plus a single Bludger to make it more of a challenge. Neither of his opponents seemed to want to hit the Bludger at Harry, though, directing the ball at Ron almost every time.

"Oi!" Ron finally yelled in exasperation as he hit the Bludger back at his sister, "You're playing _against_ Harry, Ginny, for Merlin's sake act like it!"

"Sorry," Ginny blushed bright red, and Harry saw out of the corner of his eye as he swerved past her to snatch the Quaffle that Draco had also colored, as if only just realizing that he had been doing the same thing.

After that the game went rather better, even if Harry thought that both Draco and Ginny were overly prone to fly close enough to touch him, seemingly by accident. Draco turned out to be a rather good impromptu Keeper, blocking five of Harry's attempts to score and six of Ron's, and Ginny showed the same ability at Chasing that she had done at the Gryffindor tryouts the previous fall. By the time Hermione came to yell up to them that dinner was nearly ready, Ginny and Draco had accumulated a score of 240 to Ron and Harry's 210.

"Good game," said Draco, putting out his hand to Ron, who looked bemused for a moment but eventually shook it.

"Good game, partner," he said gravely to Ginny, who replied that Draco should have played as Keeper for Slytherin instead of Seeker, as he was far better than Roland Urquhart.

"Good game," Draco said to Harry, without a touch or even a smile. Harry knew why. He would have done the same, in fact was doing the same – but it hurt a little nonetheless.

They put the brooms away and were sent off to wash their hands before Mrs. Weasley would let them come to the table. There was a tremendous dish of toad-in-the-hole in front of Mr. Weasley and the table was crowded with a dozen other bowls and platters, all heaped and steaming and smelling delicious. Harry felt a pig when he took fourths, but he had had no lunch, after all, and Mrs. Weasley seemed pleased that he was eating so much. Both Ron and Draco matched him, which made him feel a bit better, but Hermione and Ginny both stopped after a small second helping and sat, looking faintly superior, as the boys kept eating.

Draco had been placed on one side of Harry, Ginny on the other, and he kept his eyes firmly fixed on Hermione across the table every time he had to look up from his plate. Hermione refused to meet his gaze, however, talking in a slightly strained voice with Mr. Weasley about Muggle television.

After dinner was over, though, Hermione somehow convinced both Ron and Draco to join her in a game of Exploding Snap, in which Harry knew she had absolutely no interest. He was certain she had done it to give him the opportunity of talking with Ginny. He supposed it was something he would have to do sooner or later, but he would rather it have been later. Much later. Preferably once he had figured things out a bit more.

She was sitting with her feet tucked under her on the sofa beside him, and the faint flowery smell that always clung to her hair made Harry remember so many things – kissing her after she had brought Gryffindor to the win against Ravenclaw last spring, sitting together down by the lake, even, most oddly, seeing her shaking and crying after he had killed the basilisk and destroyed Tom Riddle's diary in the Chamber of Secrets. He touched her hand and tried to ignore Draco watching them from behind his cards on the other side of the room.

"Ginny."

"I was really worried about you when Ron told me you were having to travel around with Draco Malfoy," she said, sliding her fingers between his.

"Yeah... it wasn't exactly something I'd've chosen."

"But Hermione says he took an Unbreakable Vow to be loyal to you? I couldn't believe it. Did he really do that?"

"He did. It was his idea, and Hermione cast the spell so I know it's genuine. He thought that Voldemort could track him through the Mark – that's what Snape told him, and he'd been on the run for weeks. I think he had a pretty awful time before he found me and asked for help," said Harry. "Maybe the Vow was his way of repaying me for that. And now it seems that Snape lied to him, and he couldn't really have been traced that way."

"You feel sorry for him, don't you?" Ginny asked, tilting her head up toward him. Harry could see the tendrils of hair curling about her neck and had a very clear flash of kissing her there, in the hollow of her throat, overlaid by an image of kissing Draco in just the same spot.

"I suppose so." Harry could not quite believe he was talking about Draco with Ginny. He chose his words carefully. "At first anyhow. I mean, he could've killed Dumbledore, and didn't, and that put him in real danger. Kind of like me, really. He's still an absolute ruddy git sometimes, but, well, not as awful as I used to think. He offered to help search for the Horcruxes, even."

"And you're going to let him help." Ginny looked cross, and Harry understood. He had refused _her_ help, yet he was allowing it from a boy who had been his enemy for years.

"There's not a lot of choice, not with how he phrased that stupid Vow. He _has_ to help me." Which was true, and if Ginny asked Hermione she would back up what Harry said. Assuming Hermione remembered the exact words, but knowing Hermione, Harry was sure she would. There was little point in Harry saying that he would rather have no one's help, and even less in saying that if he had to have someone, at least Draco was already living on borrowed time – so that if something happened to him, Harry would not bear the whole of the responsibility. He did not want to tell her the first, and she already knew the second. Harry was surprised to realize how much the thought of Draco being hurt or killed pained him. Not as much as if it were Ginny, or Hermione, or Ron, but still...

Ginny was talking again and Harry had not heard a word. "Sorry?"

"I said, do you think that you know where they are now? Have you learned something new?"

"No, not really. I'm just going through the places that seem most likely, as I'd planned to do by myself originally. We checked the graveyard at Little Hangleton this morning, and started on the Riddle house. We'll work more on that tomorrow," Harry said, combing his fingers through his hair. "I hope. Hermione was trying to work out a way to get the Dark Mark off Draco's arm, or alter it, as well, and if she has some spells to try I expect we'll have to stay here for that."

"You ought at least to come back on Thursday," said Ginny.

"Thursday?"

"Your _birthday_, Harry." She looked exasperated.

"Right, yeah."

"What's wrong with you tonight? You seem awfully, I don't know, distracted. Bothered about something."

"I'm worried about the Horcruxes," Harry offered.

Ginny just looked at him. All right, so it was a feeble excuse.

"And getting rid of the Dark Mark on Draco's arm, too."

"Uh huh." She narrowed her eyes. "Harry, I agreed to break up because you need to be free to do what you feel you must to defeat You-Know-Who. But that doesn't mean I've stopped being your friend and caring about you... and you seem more on edge than I'd think you would be. Hermione said that Draco can't be followed through the Mark, so that's much less of a problem not just for him but for you. And you've been able to start searching for the Horcruxes as you wanted, you've even got Draco to help you now. Unless _that's_ the problem?"

"Sort of," Harry muttered.

"Is he not really helping, despite the Vow, then?"

"No..." He was reluctant to lie to Ginny, and he could not tell her the truth. Not the whole of it. He compromised, telling her what he could not tell Draco.

"I really don't want _anyone_ helping me. Not you, not Ron or Hermione, not Draco. This is my responsibility."

Ginny leaned over and brushed his cheek with her lips. "I understand. But Harry, we all _want_ to help... at least the three of _us_ do, and I suppose Draco must as well, the Vow makes him. We're your friends, that's what friends do."

"I know." Harry wanted to kiss her back, but he did not dare. That could only lead to trouble. He owed it to her not to imply something that he was unwilling to follow through on. And Draco was only across the room. Not that he owed it to Draco not to kiss Ginny. "I know," he repeated, brushing the hair out of his eyes again and using the movement to casually lean away. "I'll let him help, I have to, but I won't put anyone else in danger if I can avoid it."

"But when You-Know-Who is defeated for good?"

"Then... who knows? Who knows if I'll even manage to do it?" He held back a shudder at the thought of trying to kill Voldemort.

"You will," said Ginny firmly. "You've beaten him before."

"My mum did it," Harry said.

"You did, too. Not just when you were a baby, think of everything that's happened in the past few years, from when he possessed Professor Quirrell to when he lured you to the Ministry to find the prophecy. Some of those times you had help, sure, but you're the one who really defeated him each time, wouldn't you say? You can do it." Her eyes were alight with confidence.

"I hope so," said Harry.

The game of Exploding Snap seemed to be over, with Ron gathering up the cards. Harry wanted to discuss the Horcruxes with his friends, but Mrs. Weasley herded them up to bed, and he decided that there would be time in the morning.

Lying in Ron's room, listening to his soft breathing, Harry was thankful that he seemed to have avoided any unpleasant scenes between Draco and Ginny... between him and any of the Weasley family, for that matter. Draco really had behaved better than Harry would have given him credit for, no disparaging comments about the house, no boasts about his own family. Not that he really _could_, under the circumstances, but still.

Harry thought about Draco. Hermione had said he had changed, and as usual, she was right. It did not seem to be just out of fear, either. With the information from the Aurors, there was less for Draco to fear than before, yet if anything he had been more amiable since learning that – if amiable was ever a word to apply to Draco Malfoy. He squirmed. He should not have had that cup of chocolate that Mrs. Weasley had pressed on them; now he needed the toilet and would not be able to get to sleep without going first.

He had to walk down two flights of stairs, to the floor where Ginny and Hermione were – he presumed – asleep in Ginny's room. If Hermione had not been there, he might have been tempted to knock at Ginny's door. As it was, he bent down and put his ear to the wood to see if perhaps they were still up and talking. No sound from there, but behind him the stairs creaked. He spun around, ready to tell one of the Weasleys that he had only leaned over to scratch his knee.

Draco raised a pale eyebrow. "Looking for someone?"

It was impossible that Draco would believe his excuse. "Yes."

"Ginny?"

"Yes."

"I see." There was a pause. "Of course."

And while Harry was trying to think of what to say, Draco disappeared down the stairs again.

Harry swore under his breath and followed. "Draco," he said, opening the door.

"Would you mind knocking, Potter? It's quite rude to enter someone's room uninvited." Draco was looking out of the window, his back to Harry.

Rolling his eyes, Harry stepped back into the hallway, pulled the door to, and tapped on it as requested.

"Come in."

Harry crossed over and stood behind Draco. "You've no cause to be upset, you know."

"Don't I?"

"No." Harry touched Draco's shoulder. "You don't."


	22. With the Weasleys

**22. With the Weasleys**

The Weasleys' house was just as ramshackle as Draco remembered it from when he had come looking for Harry weeks before. He sniffed disdainfully, thinking that a good stiff breeze would blow it over. Really, such a dwelling was a disgrace to the whole wizarding world.

Harry poked him. "Be polite."

"Wasn't I polite at the Grangers'?" Though that might have been easier, since he knew nothing about them except that they were Muggles, and they knew nothing about the Malfoy family except whatever Hermione might have mentioned. Whereas the Weasleys... that was another matter altogether.

As he was thinking this, Ron and Ginny Weasley burst out of the back door, crowding around Harry to greet him. Draco felt pleased despite himself when Hermione said hello to him first, and took his rucksack when he shrugged it off.

As he had suspected, Molly Weasley simply assumed that Harry and he would stay the night, and sent them to take their gear upstairs. Draco was shown to a room on the second floor which he was told had belonged to Percy. He remembered his father talking about the former Head Boy of Hogwarts with approbation. No doubt that was why there was nothing of Percy's left here – his family had probably thrown him out for sticking with the Ministry instead of Dumbledore. Leaving his chest and rucksack, Draco went up with Harry to put Harry's things in Ron's room, then back outside where Hermione immediately started quizzing him about the Dark Mark.

Draco held his temper with difficulty. He recalled little of how it had been put on, and told Hermione that the memory had presumably been Obliviated at the time precisely so that he would have trouble removing the Mark if he renounced his allegiance to Voldemort, but she continued probing, asking about anything he knew of how it was used to summon the Death Eaters. Hermione was only trying to help, he knew that, and he _did_ want to get the Mark off his arm if there was any hope of doing so. Nevertheless after a quarter of an hour answering her questions he began to wonder if the result would be worth the trouble.

He was almost glad when Ginny reappeared from helping her mother with some chore in the kitchen. Idly, he speculated about what it might have been. His own mother never cooked anything more complicated than tea and toast, they had house-elves for that sort of thing, but of course the Weasleys were far too poor to have such help.

Ron took his sister's appearance as an excuse to cut short Hermione's interrogation of Draco, which seemed to bore him as much as it annoyed its object. He suggested a game of two-on-two Quidditch to fill the remaining time before dinner. Harry and Ginny both leapt on the suggestion, and Draco would have too if he had had a broom.

He expected that he would have to play audience while the rest played the game, but Hermione offered, "You can use my broom if you want, it's a Comet 260. I have an idea about Transfiguring the Mark, but I need to look up some information to see if it's workable." She smiled at him and disappeared into the house

"That's the kind of broom I flew at home for years," Draco told Harry as the four of them went to fetch the brooms from the shed. "It will be marvelous to fly again – I can't believe Hermione lent it to me."

"Oh, Hermione doesn't really enjoy flying," said Ginny from behind them, "and she's absolute rubbish at Quidditch. I'm not sure why she bothered getting a broom, frankly." She took her own and stepped outside.

Draco found the Comet and hefted it. It could use some care – the handle was scuffed and a number of the twigs were out of alignment – but he was grateful to Hermione for letting him fly in her stead and repressed the remarks he might have made about a witch who could not be bothered to maintain her own broomstick. He saw Harry pick up the Firebolt. Harry held it as if it were made of crystal, precious and fragile. Even if he had not already known, Draco could have seen just from that how much flying meant to Harry, and he had a moment's wish that Harry would touch _him_ half as fondly as he did his broomstick.

"Shall we toss to choose partners?" Harry was saying to Ron.

Hoping that he would be teamed with Harry, Draco was nettled to hear Ron reply, "You and Malfoy are both Seekers, you shouldn't be on the same team."

Which, Draco admitted, was true if one were after the most even match, especially since they would not be using the Snitch. But if Ron had chosen to team up with his sister, they would probably have won handily. It was evident that Ron was no Slytherin. Blaise or Pansy or – usually – Draco himself would have argued for a team that would give him the best chance of victory. As it was, the toss paired Draco with Ginny, the arrangement Draco least wanted. He did not care about winning Quidditch here, he had other things on his mind. But Harry was watching and Draco had promised to be polite, so he stretched his mouth into the best smile he could manage as they kicked off and began to play.

Trying to manage the bat in one hand to deal with the Bludger, and use the other to grab for the Quaffle was a challenge. It took Draco a few minutes to become comfortable with the unfamiliar technique. Not having flown in months, and then on a different broom, made it even harder. When Draco got the feel of things, he began hitting the Bludger mostly towards Ron, still annoyed with him for keeping Draco from any chance of teaming with Harry. He noticed that Ginny was doing the same, and suspected that it might be for the same reason. Ron started yelling at Ginny that she was playing _against_ Harry and ought to act like it, and Draco flushed to think that he had probably been just as obvious, not a smart thing to do.

Eventually it worked out that Draco did more of the Keeping and Ginny more of the Chasing, and that turned out rather well. Draco saved nearly a dozen goals and when Hermione came to call them to dinner, he and Ginny were ahead, 240 to 210. Landing, he shook hands with Ron, who looked surprised at the gesture, and Ginny, who grinned tightly at him and said that he should have been Keeper, not Seeker, for Slytherin.

"Good game," he said to Harry, keeping the two Weasleys between them. He did not want to shake Harry's hand, he wanted to hug him, and if he touched Harry at all he was afraid he would give in to the impulse. Not that Draco was ashamed of that longing, or thought that Harry might not reciprocate. No. He did not want to make matters more difficult for Harry, that was all.

Mrs. Weasley's cooking was as good as Harry had promised, easily as good as anything the Malfoy house-elves prepared, if undeniably less elegant. Draco would have felt awkward about taking extra helpings had it not been that both Harry and Ron were doing so as well. Harry avoided conversation with him during dinner, which was irritating, but at least he was not talking to Ginny either. Draco was forced to listen to Hermione explaining Muggle electronics to Mr. Weasley for the duration of the meal. He could not believe that a grown wizard could be so interested in Muggle inventions.

When dinner was over and the elder Weasleys were chatting about Ministry matters over the dishes, Draco thought they would talk more about either the Horcruxes or the Dark Mark. He rather dreaded Hermione continuing her interrogations on the latter. To his surprise, she suggested that they put off discussion until morning and instead have a game of Exploding Snap. He assumed that all five of them would play and so he agreed, only to find that it was to be Hermione, Ron, and himself alone; Harry and Ginny were over on a sofa on the other side of the room, talking. Draco chose to sit on the side of the table furthest away from them, where he could at least keep an eye on Harry.

He tried to hear what they were saying, but merely succeeded in being so distracted that he lost hand after hand miserably. Ron gloated a bit but Hermione gave him sympathetic looks, which irritated Draco further. He did not want her sympathy.

At last the game ended. Mrs. Weasley made hot chocolate for them – never mind that it was summer, thought Draco sourly – and handed around a plate of ginger biscuits before shooing them off to bed.

Since Draco had been put in Percy's room which was a floor below Ginny's and three below Ron's, he had to say goodnight first and watch as they went up together, jostling good-naturedly. He could hear Harry and Ron chaffing each other about their flying during the Quidditch game. Draco shut the bedroom door behind him and sighed. The day had started off so promisingly with the two of them working together, but now... What _had_ Harry and Ginny been nattering on about all that time? He had seen Ginny kiss Harry's cheek at one point and had had to restrain himself from yelling at Harry from across the room.

He's never promised you anything except his help in hiding from Lord Voldemort, Draco reminded himself. In fact he's gone out of his way to say that sex between us needn't mean anything more than a bit of fun. So you can't blame him for talking with Ginny, she used to be his _girlfriend_ after all, and even though they broke up he obviously still cares about her. And – Draco thought about it – she kissed him, but he didn't kiss her, did he? Maybe that was a good sign.

Restlessly he moved around the room. Bare though it was, nothing personal to counteract the shabbiness of the furniture, it was spotlessly clean. Draco tugged open the wardrobe door curiously. Nothing. Empty save for a pair of hangers on the rod. It was no different from the impersonality of the room in the university hall where he and Harry had been the night before, really, but in the Weasleys' house it seemed... wrong. Nothing like the cheerful colorful crowded rooms downstairs, or the brief look Draco had had at Ron's bedroom, with its walls covered with pictures of the Chudley Cannons. Draco snickered, thinking that Ron _would_ support a team that had not won the League Cup in over a century. The Malfoy family backed the Magpies, naturally, best record in the League.

His smile faded as he pictured Ron's room, though, and imagined Ron and Harry up there. They would probably talk for hours. He was not jealous of Ronald Weasley. Certainly not. Harry might have done a bit of experimenting with Ron, a few kisses perhaps, but Draco was quite sure Harry had never had sex with anyone except himself. Any bloke, at least – he really did not know what Harry and Ginny might have done, and did not much want to think about it. His mind kept presenting him with images of Harry, though: Harry heavy-lidded, his lips swollen from kissing; Harry flushed, head flung to one side as Draco touched him; Harry quivering as he came against Draco's stomach. Draco's own cock was hard, just remembering.

What if seeing Ginny again made Harry decide he liked her better, after all? Could Draco persuade him otherwise? Did he _want_ to persuade Harry otherwise, for more than just a few shags?

For the first time since the night he had come to Harry begging for help, Draco made himself stop and think about what it was he wanted from Harry Potter. They had always been enemies, and that had been comfortable in its own way, predictable. For the past week, though, Harry had been treating Draco as... well, as a friend. Maybe not quite like Ron, but the way Draco had seen him treat Neville or Seamus or Dean. And that was something Draco found he liked very much, to be a friend of Harry. Was it enough? If Harry preferred Ginny – or anyone else, for that matter – would Draco be content to live with that?

And did he even have any choice? He had vowed to be loyal to Harry, to help him, to protect him. If Harry wanted someone else, Draco might have to help him get that person. But he did not at all want to have to do that... so the only way out would be either not to _know_ who Harry wanted, or to be sure that it was himself. Preferably the latter. Because, Draco decided, being Harry's friend was not enough to satisfy him. He wanted more than friendly affection and casual shagging, he wanted love and desire and...

Oh, Merlin, he was bloody _in love_ with Harry, wasn't he? Not just fancying him, not just fascinated by the aura of the Boy Who Lived. With a groan, Draco threw himself onto the bed. This was ridiculous. It was the Vow, surely it was the Vow that was doing this to him.

Enough. It was late, doubtless Hermione would be wanting to try some experiment on the Mark on his arm bright and early, and in any case he and Harry were supposed to keep searching for those wretched Horcruxes. He had to get some sleep. Draco made himself get up and undress, pulling on the green t-shirt that Harry had bought him the previous week. He needed to use the toilet before he tried to go to sleep, though. It was up a floor, he remembered, across from Ginny's room.

The old wood of the stairs creaked near the top, and in the moonlight Draco saw a figure stooping near Ginny's door. A flash of light on glasses told him who it was. Harry.

"Looking for someone?" The words flew out of Draco's mouth before he could stop them.

"Yes." Harry straightened up, his back to the door as if he were protecting something.

"Ginny?" Hoping that somehow he was mistaken, Draco had to ask.

"Yes."

"I see." Draco felt it as if Harry had used the _Sectumsempra_ spell on him again, and he were bleeding from the chest. "Of course." He had lost before he had even had a chance to really try.

Blindly he turned and made his way back down the stairs. The pressure in his bladder was infinitely preferable to having to face Harry for another moment just then. He was staring out the window, thinking about where he might Apparate to, and what that would mean for him in the long term, when Harry spoke his name.

"Would you mind knocking, Potter? It's quite rude to enter someone's room uninvited."

He did not expect Harry to listen, but he heard the door click shut, and then a knock. Sheer surprise at Harry's obedience to his request caused him to say reflexively, "Come in."

"You've no cause to be upset, you know." Harry was so close behind him that Draco could feel his breath when he spoke, smell the bitter salty tang of his sweat.

"I haven't?"

"No."

The touch of Harry's hand on his shoulder made Draco jump and turn around. The moonlight altered all colors and Harry's eyes looked dark, not their usual brilliant green, as he gazed calmly at Draco.

"Why not?"

Draco could hear the bitterness in his voice. Harry seemed to recognize it too, because he tugged at Draco's arm, saying, "Come on, sit down."

They sat on the bed, Harry cross-legged at the foot, Draco leaning against the scarred headboard with his knees pulled up and arms wrapped around them.

"So tell me, if you were looking for Ginny, why shouldn't I be upset?"

"Because you're leaping to conclusions," said Harry. "I was trying to see if she might still be awake, yes, but not so we could go off and snog ourselves silly, as you seem to be thinking. Or am I wrong and you had something else in mind?"

Draco shook his head. "So why, then?"

"Because I wanted to _talk_ with her, you..." Harry swallowed whatever word he had been going to say. "I couldn't sleep, Ron's snoring like a troll, and I was hoping Ginny might still be awake and willing to talk."

"You could've come to talk with me," Draco pointed out, still smarting.

"Draco, I..." Suddenly Harry looked very tired. "I could have. If you weren't the reason."

"The reason for what?"

"Why I couldn't sleep."

"You couldn't sleep because of me?" repeated Draco, and despite himself, he smiled. "I couldn't sleep because of you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really." Draco uncurled and leaned forward to lay his hand on Harry's knee. The knowledge that Harry cared enough to be thinking about him that much gave Draco hope. He had not lost out to Ginny, not yet at any rate. But he had better not push too hard. If he were a Gryffindor he would rush right in and ruin everything; as a Slytherin he could wait and plan and work for what he wanted, as long as there was something to wait for.

"So what were you thinking that you couldn't sleep?" Harry asked.

"Well, what were _you_ thinking?"

"I asked first."

Draco was not yet prepared to admit that he thought he was in love with Harry. That would scare the other boy off for certain. It scared him, come to that. "Er... that even if it's turned out not to be necessary after all, I'm glad I came to you for help."

"Why?"

"You tell me what you were thinking about me, first," Draco countered.

"I was thinking that Hermione was right, and you've changed a lot, Draco. And I was wondering what had caused it. So why are you glad?" asked Harry.

"Because, well, at first it was because I felt safer with you than I had done in weeks. But now, because you're treating me like a friend." Draco could feel the blood hot in his cheeks as he said that. Had he been too obvious?

Harry turned red, too, though it was hard to see in the bluish light, and his voice was rough. "That's what it is, then, both of us treating the other decently. I... I really wanted to hex you six ways and throw you out when you showed up that night in Godric's Hollow. It was only for Dumbledore's sake – that you hadn't actually hurt him – that convinced me to give you a chance. But... I'm glad I did, now. Revenge would've been less... satisfying."

"Satisfying?" Draco smirked at the double entendre, unintended though he was sure it was.

"Oh." Harry blushed even darker. "That's not what I meant."

"I know. But you've enjoyed what we've done, haven't you? Because I have."

"Yeah. It's been... well, not what I expected. But good. Really good," said Harry, blinking and shoving his glasses up his nose.

Better than with Ginny? Draco wanted to ask and did not dare. Not here, not now. His hand still rested on Harry's leg. He moved his thumb, rubbing lightly through the fabric of Harry's pyjama bottoms, stroking the inside of his thigh. "I'm glad."

Harry sat very still, watching Draco, his breathing quickening. After a couple of minutes he sighed. "No, please, don't."

"Why not?" Draco stopped, but did not remove his hand.

"Not with her just upstairs. Not when we're guests here. Please." Harry swallowed.

Draco could see the outline of Harry's cock straining against the cotton, and he wanted nothing more than to set it free, to take it into his mouth until Harry was moaning and begging and calling his name. He could almost taste the power it would give him, to offer Harry such pleasure.

"Please."

"All right." Draco moved away, folding his arms across his chest.

"Thanks." Harry's breath was ragged. "I... I'll see you at breakfast."

"Yeah. Good night, Harry."

Harry paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Good night, Draco."

As the door clicked shut behind him, Draco whispered, "I love you, Harry." The words felt strange in his mouth. He waited a few minutes, then stood up. He had never had a chance to use the toilet.

In the morning, Mrs. Weasley fed them oatmeal and toast with marmalade before shooing them all outside.

"So what are the plans for today?" Ron asked.

"Draco and I are going back to the Riddle house and searching again for a Horcrux," said Harry firmly.

"Are you coming back here tonight?" Ginny's gaze was bright as she looked at Harry.

"I, er, hadn't thought about it. Draco?"

"It's up to you, Harry, not me." Draco did not see why Harry had even bothered asking.

"I've had an idea," announced Hermione, interrupting the discussion. "I may have a way that we can attempt to remove or alter the Dark Mark without the risk that the Death Eaters will perceive it as a summons."

"What? How?" they all demanded at once.

"But I'll _have_ to talk with Professor McGonagall... tell her not just that you're alive, Draco, but about the Mark and everything."

"Why?" Draco asked. "What's your idea?"

"Well..." Hermione shot a quick apologetic glance at Harry. "It has to do with a certain place that's Unplottable and has quite a lot of spells laid on it to keep it inaccessible not just to Muggles, but to wizards too. So if you were there, the Death Eaters couldn't find you. But there was a Fidelius Charm on the place, and Professor Dumbledore was the Secret Keeper. I don't know if that's been passed to someone else, or voided, or what, so I have to ask Professor McGonagall. She's the most likely to know, but I'm positive she won't tell me without a good reason. If I can explain to her about the Mark and the Vow you took to Harry, Draco, I think she'll be willing to help so that Draco can go there and we can try to remove the Mark."

Harry's mouth was twisted. "I _really_ don't want to go to that place again, Hermione."

"Not even if it's the only way to help Draco?" she said briskly.

He scowled. "Oh, all right. If Draco agrees."

Draco wondered just why Harry was so reluctant, but he supposed he would find out sooner or later. "If you think this will work, Hermione, then I guess you can tell McGonagall."

"Excellent," Hermione beamed. "Now, you two said you'd come up with some possible Transfiguration spells, right? Write those down for me and I'll talk them over with Professor McGonagall too."

"And what am I going to do?" Ron asked. "I could help you look for Horcruxes, Harry."

"So could I," said Ginny.

Draco held his breath waiting for Harry's response, exhaling only at the slow, "I'd rather you didn't."

"But Draco is. Surely twice as many people looking would speed things up," argued Ron.

"It's too dangerous. This isn't like when you all insisted on going with me to the Ministry last year," said Harry. "Yeah, I want to find the Horcruxes quickly, but it's not so urgent that I'm willing to let you risk your lives to help me. Forget it, Ron, Ginny. It'd be more useful for both of you to help out Hermione, whatever needs doing. Ginny can't Apparate there yet anyhow, and I don't know how to do Side-Along Apparition"

"You two could Floo to the Ministry and talk to Mad-Eye again, if your mum will let Ginny go," said Hermione. "See if he knows anything about Horcruxes and how to recognize them."

"Or Tonks," said Harry. "She's sometimes a bit, er, well, you know what she's like, but she _is_ a fully-qualified Auror."

The two Weasleys seemed to brighten up at the second suggestion, and Draco could not blame them. Moody was intimidating, to say the least. He could attest to that, even if it had not been the real Moody who had once Transfigured him into a ferret. Just the memory of that incident made him edgy.

"And I'll tell you what, we'll come back tomorrow night. That'll give us time to finish going over the Riddle house, I think, so we might even have good news. And you'll have time to talk to the Aurors and the Headmistress; it could take a day or two to get in to see them, not like they have nothing else to do," Harry said. "We'll just go get our rucksacks and say thank you and goodbye to your mum, Ron."

"Would it be all right if I leave my trunk here?" asked Draco hesitantly. "It's rather a pain to cart around."

"Sure," said Ron. "It's not in the way in Percy's room. Where'd you get it, anyway? Something from the Riddles'?"

"No, it's mine from Hogwarts," said Draco. "Harry summoned Kreacher and he brought it to me."

"It's okay," said Harry, preempting Hermione, who seemed about to launch into a disapproving speech. "I asked Dobby to watch Kreacher, too, so if he tries to go anywhere but Hogwarts or to talk to anyone, Dobby will let me know."

"I hope that's enough," said Hermione in dubious tones. "All right. We'd better get going, all of us."

Within half an hour Draco and Harry were back again at the Riddle house. They had stopped briefly in Little Hangleton, and Harry had used a Muggle telephone box to ring several hostels before he found one that had a room for two people available that night.

"Saffron Walden? Where's that?"

Harry shrugged. "Not far from Cambridge, I think. Does it matter?"

"I suppose not. First floor today?" Draco asked.

"Makes sense to me. Let's start at this end."

The first-floor rooms held more abandoned furniture than those on the ground floor had: wardrobes, bookshelves, even chairs. None was in good shape, Draco thought. The springs were poking through the upholstery of the chairs and the wood of the other pieces was scratched and dull. Nevertheless their presence made the search significantly more difficult, since they had to go over every inch of the furniture as well as the walls, floors, and ceilings.

Shortly after noon they paused to have lunch. Mrs. Weasley had insisted that they take sandwiches and fruit along. They were in a large room with a fireplace and one of the battered chairs.

"I saw Voldemort here," said Harry quietly.

"What?" Draco nearly dropped his sandwich. "How? When?"

"In a dream, at the beginning of fourth year," said Harry. "He was plotting how to use me to restore him to a proper body... but I didn't understand what he was doing. If I had, maybe Cedric needn't've died."

"It wasn't your fault," said Draco. "Honestly, you shouldn't hold yourself responsible for every bad thing that happens. V- Voldemort is the one who killed him."

"Because he was in the way. Because I'd done the _honorable_ thing and insisted we both take the Triwizard Cup together. It was a Portkey that took us straight to Voldemort. If I'd been a bit more selfish, Cedric would still be alive."

"Don't be stupid, Harry. You wouldn't be _you_ if you hadn't tried to do the right thing. There was no way you could've known what would happen."

"I suppose not," said Harry, staring gloomily at his empty sandwich wrapper.

"Come on. We need to finish this floor today or we'll never get through by tomorrow," Draco urged him.

"Okay." Harry stood up.

They had no more success that day than the previous one, however, and by the time they had searched the last room on the floor, Draco was as grumpy and out-of-sorts as Harry.

"Oh, blast it. I meant to ask Ron to change some gold for me."

"I should've done that too," said Draco. "How much do you have?"

"Enough for tonight, no fear, it just would have been easy for him to stop at Gringott's if he was going to the Ministry to try to see Tonks and Mad-Eye. Remind me tomorrow night to ask him, will you?"

Draco nodded, thinking that Harry could actually go himself, if he wanted, although Draco still should avoid such public places in the wizarding world. Voldemort might not be able to track him, but that did not mean there were no Death Eaters on the lookout. "Ready to go?"

The hostel was much like all the others they had been to – spartan and slightly shabby, but acceptable for what it was. They walked down to the nearest pub for dinner.

"Not as good a meal as last night's, was it?" said Harry, pushing away his empty plate.

"No," agreed Draco. "Want to have a drink before we go back?"

"I thought you still had a bottle of that Spanish wine left."

"Something else sounds good for a change."

"Cider?" Harry ordered them two pints. "It's not as good as butterbeer, but... cheers."

They clinked glasses and drank. Harry kept glancing up at Draco, then down again at the table, tracing patterns with his finger through a puddle where his cider had spilled over. Draco pretended not to notice, talking lightly about the Quidditch moves from yesterday, speaking in low tones lest the Muggles at the next table overhear.

After the first pint, they had a second. Draco could feel his fingers and toes tingling and knew that he, at any rate, had better stop with that for now. Harry seemed reluctant to leave, though Draco was not sure why. It took some persuasion but eventually Draco convinced him it was time to go.


	23. In Saffron Walden

**23. In Saffron Walden**

"Why shouldn't I be upset if you were looking for Ginny?" In the moonlight through the window Draco's eyes looked as hard and cold as the granite they had seen in Aberdeen.

"Come on, sit down," said Harry, pulling him towards the bed and sitting cross-legged at the foot of it. "I think you're leaping to conclusions. I wasn't trying to see if she was still awake so we could sneak off and snog somewhere, if that's what you had in mind."

"What were you doing, then?" said Draco, his voice suspicious and unhappy.

"I just wanted to _talk_ to her, you..." Harry kept himself from calling Draco an idiot by the narrowest of margins. "I couldn't sleep."

"You could've come to talk to me."

Yes, he could have, except that it was Draco that he wanted to talk _about_, because it was Draco who he couldn't get out of his head. Not that it made a lot of sense to talk to Ginny about him, Harry realized. Except that Ginny knew that Harry felt _something_ towards Draco, even if she thought it was just pity, and he had grown used to talking with her about his hopes and fears, last spring. He admitted, "Yeah, but you're the reason why I couldn't sleep."

Was that too much to say? Draco had a big enough ego as it was. Hearing that Harry could not stop thinking about him was bound to puff it up more. But it was the truth, and Harry was too tired to think of a lie even if he had wanted to.

Telling the truth provoked a mini-confession from Draco in return, who said that he had been thinking of Harry, too, that he was glad that he had come to Harry for help although it had turned out not to be necessary, that he enjoyed being Harry's friend.

A friend. Draco Malfoy as a friend – now that was a strange thought, although Harry could not deny that it was as good a word as any to describe what had developed between them these past days. Both more and less than a friend, really. Harry in his turn was glad that he had not hexed Draco as had been his first instinct in Godric's Hollow, that instead he had tried to help. Things now might be confusing and awkward and unpredictable, but there had been some definite positives to traveling around alone with Draco, sex unquestionably being one of them.

And Draco clearly had the same thoughts about Harry, because he had rested his hand on Harry's leg and was stroking it lightly with his thumb, each movement sending unmistakable signals straight to Harry's cock, which was hardening in rapid response.

Harry could see that Draco's lips had parted slightly, as if ready to kiss him, and his impulse was to kiss back... but they were in Percy Weasley's old room, Ginny was asleep upstairs... he couldn't do it, not now, not here.

"Please, don't," was all he could manage to say, and was grateful when Draco stopped the caresses. "Not when we're guests, please."

"All right," said Draco," and pulled back so that he was no longer touching Harry anywhere at all.

It felt lonely, somehow.

Harry said, "I'll see you at breakfast," and hastily slid off the bed and went over to the door before he could change his mind. "Goodnight, Draco."

In the loo, he wrapped his hand around his aching cock and wanked desperately, thinking first of Ginny, then of Draco. When he had come he was able to piss. He made sure there was no sign of what he had been doing before tiptoeing back upstairs to Ron's room. He thought he heard someone else moving around, but did not stay to find out who it might be.

It took a good deal of fast talking in the morning to dissuade Ron from coming to Little Hangleton to help search the Riddle house. Luckily Hermione helped him out, suggesting that Ron, and Ginny if Mrs. Weasley permitted her, could go talk to Tonks and Mad-Eye about Horcruxes. Like Harry himself, Ron fancied the idea of becoming an Auror, and an excuse to go and talk with two of them was not something he would turn down.

Hermione had also come up with an idea that Harry was much less enthusiastic about. She was careful not to identify the Black house or the Order of the Phoenix by name, but she thought that because the house was Unplottable and also hidden with a Fidelius Charm, it might be a safe place for them to try removing the Dark Mark from Draco's arm. Harry thought it might well work. He _really_ did not want to return to Sirius's old home; however, since it seemed the best chance for Draco, he grudgingly agreed that he would go along with her plan. Draco looked confused by Hermione's cryptic allusions, but gave her his permission to tell Professor McGonagall everything so that the Headmistress would help them get him in. Harry resolved that later he would explain to Draco just where it was that Hermione had in mind. For now he let it go, wanting to get on with the search for the Horcruxes.

By the end of the day he was frustrated and gloomy. They had had no success – which was not too surprising, given that it had taken Dumbledore months to track down just two Horcruxes – and being in the Riddle house, where he had dreamed of Voldemort, became more and more depressing the longer they were there.

At least he had been sensible enough today to ring ahead and book a hostel room for the night, and found a twin room for them in Saffron Walden, surely one of the oddest town names he had ever encountered, but a place where the chance of inadvertently running into any witch or wizard, and especially a Death Eater, seemed remote indeed.

They had a decent supper in a pub. Nothing to touch Mrs. Weasley's superb cooking, of course, but better than most of what Aunt Petunia made. Draco suggested staying for a drink afterward. Harry rather suspected that the Slytherin had ulterior motives... every time they had had a drink together, things had happened. Not that that had been all bad. But Harry wished Draco would make a move without thinking he had to get Harry drunk first. Or was it Draco who needed to find courage in a cup? Harry thought about the fact that last night at the Burrow neither of them had drunk anything but hot chocolate. Maybe it was an innocent suggestion after all, maybe Draco just felt like having a pint with a friend, as anyone might.

Draco was talking about the Quidditch game yesterday, which was perfectly fine with Harry. Nothing too personal in that, and Draco was even being careful to keep his voice low enough not to be overheard. Harry ordered another couple of pints of cider and began to relax. They could just hang about here for the rest of the evening and get sufficiently pissed not to do anything but collapse into sleep once they had gone back to the hostel. That would suit him.

When their second pints were finished, Harry was ready for another round, but Draco declared that he did not want to drink any more that night and intended to return to their room. Harry gave serious thought to staying on alone. In the end, though, he decided that if he got as drunk as he would like, he would need someone to help him get back, and he was not prepared to trust a Muggle stranger – he had heard too much on the news at the Dursleys' to be that stupid. So, rather reluctantly, he went along with Draco.

"Are you all right, Harry?" asked Draco as they walked a trifle unsteadily along the narrow pavement.

"I'm fine." He knew he sounded surly, but he did not care. And it kept Draco silent the rest of the way, until they were in the little room that smelled vaguely of mildew and disinfectant.

Once there, Draco pulled out his wand and cast spells to lock the door and prevent them from being overheard. Harry suspected why, but could not be bothered to ask. He stretched out on the narrow cot without even taking off his trainers.

Draco came and sat by his legs, frowning. He started unlacing Harry's shoes and pulled them off, setting them neatly at attention next to the rucksack Harry had dumped on the floor.

"You're acting like I'm going to jump at you and bite you."

"It feels like that."

A predatory grin – feral, Harry thought, not sure from where the word came into his head – spread over Draco's face, and he gave a mock snap of his teeth at Harry before turning serious.

"No. I was going to ask you about this mysterious place that Hermione mentioned this morning, actually. Unplottable _and_ under a Fidelius, both? And somewhere that..." Draco hesitated, "...bothers you for some reason."

"You could probably guess, if you tried; I've sort of mentioned it. It's the house I inherited from my godfather Sirius, along with Kreacher... and frankly I could do without both. It was empty for years. A couple of summers ago we spent weeks working on making it more or less inhabitable... Sirius lived there that year, in hiding, until he died." Harry laughed mirthlessly. "He's another one who might still be alive if it weren't for me, just like Cedric. Still sure you want to stick around with me, Draco?"

"Yes." Draco said it simply, as if he could not conceive of any other reply. "But why's the house so heavily spelled for protection?"

"Sirius told me that his family had done a lot of it years back, the Unplottable spell for instance. It's in a Muggle street, they didn't want visitors of the wrong sort even by accident. Then Dumbledore put the Fidelius Charm on it later, because..."

Harry stopped. Should he finally tell Draco about the Order of the Phoenix? There was no reason not to trust him now, and no way to explain without doing so. _Could_ he tell him? Perhaps, in a roundabout fashion. Draco knew about the existence of the Black house already, had done so even before Harry mentioned it, since he was related to the Blacks. It was the precise location that was a secret, more than the fact that the Order met there. Harry decided to try. If he found himself unable to speak, he would know why.

"Because?"

"Okay, this is a secret, and it's not really mine to tell. In fact I might not be able to. If that happens, you'll know it's the Fidelius preventing me. But you still have to _promise_ not to tell anyone."

"I promise. On my family's good name, I promise," said Draco.

"Better pick something else to swear by," said Harry dryly, and saw Draco flinch. "Sorry. But I don't think too much of that good name."

Draco glared at him. "It's all in how you look at it, isn't it?"

"Yes, but you're the one who wants to know."

"All right, all right. I swear by my wand – will that do?"

Nodding, Harry said, "Dumbledore was the head of a secret group that he organized to resist Voldemort, a group called the Order of the Phoenix. It goes back to when Voldemort first had power, and Dumbledore reconvened it when he returned. The Black house became their headquarters a couple of years ago. Since he was the Secret Keeper, no one could get in unless he gave them the knowledge of its exact location. That's why Hermione has to talk with Professor McGonagall, who may be the new Secret Keeper, or would know who is. I know where it is, and how to get to it, but you wouldn't be able to see it or enter, even with me."

"I understand how the Fidelius works. But then why don't you want to go there, once McGonagall or whoever tells me how? If it's such a safe place and you own it?"

"There's still plenty of not-so-nice things there," said Harry darkly. "Dark magic and Dark creatures both. Most of all the portrait of old Mrs. Black, Sirius's mother, in the front hall. She shouts and curses at everyone who walks by, calling them blood traitors and worse."

"Can't you just take the painting down? That's what I'd do."

"Of course I would, if I could. Unfortunately it's up there with a Permanent Sticking Charm, at least that's what Sirius thought it was. No one was able to remove it, the best that could be managed was to put curtains over the thing so she couldn't see when anyone walked past, and to tiptoe so she wouldn't hear either. There's other really delightful things in the house too, like the row of stuffed house-elf head, the doxy-infested curtains, the miscellaneous Dark Magic items – you name it, if it's nasty, it's probably there."

"You know," said Draco, propping himself up on his elbow, "I wonder if that trick we played on Kreacher might not work on the portrait. It would be worth a try, I think."

"What, pretending that I was your hostage, or something, that you'd made me take you there against my will? So that she'd quit yelling, figuring that someone she approved of had taken over the house again?" Harry thought about it. "It's possible. There'd be no way she could guess otherwise, not to begin with, not if there was no one else around at the time."

"If I could convince her initially that I'd taken charge, maybe I could find out how the portrait could be taken down," Draco said.

"Now _that_ would be wonderful. You'd have the undying gratitude of not just me but every member of the Order if you managed that."

"Are there a lot? Are you one?"

"I'm not, no. They won't allow anyone underage to join, they say it's too risky. I'm not even sure how many members there are altogether, I only know who some of them are," Harry confessed with no small measure of resentment. "But don't ask me who. I'm sure you can guess some likely candidates, but I'm probably going to be in trouble for telling you this much."

"What can they do to _you_? You're the Boy Who Lived, the hero of everyone who doesn't support You-Know-Who," said Draco.

"Hardly. The Ministry is against Voldemort, but they were claiming I was deluded or lying when I said he'd come back, remember? Umbridge – you know she did that, and Minister Fudge." He refrained from mentioning that Lucius Malfoy, who had known very well that Voldemort had returned, had supported the Ministry's position – and that Draco had helped Umbridge in her campaign to discredit Harry. There was no point in dragging that up again; they had both done a lot to hurt each other, in six years. Better to forget the past, or forgive it.

"The Order might not let me join if they thought I'd been revealing their secrets, and I want to join. Without their work, Voldemort would have a pretty easy time of it."

"Do you really _need_ to be a member, though?" Draco asked earnestly, tapping his finger on the mattress for emphasis. "I mean, you're working on your own to defeat him, by searching for the Horcruxes, and isn't that the most important thing?"

It was, that was true, but... how could Harry explain that he wanted to _belong_, that being the Boy Who Lived didn't give him any special privileges, it made him an outcast, without sounding like he was just whinging, pathetically in need of acceptance? He shrugged and said nothing.

"Anyway... thanks for telling me," continued Draco. "I was a little bit worried about what this place might be like, Hermione was so mysterious about it, and you seemed so bothered too."

He had stretched out so that he was lying beside Harry, not quite touching him anywhere – and that was a feat considering how narrow the mattress was – but close enough that Harry could feel the warmth of him radiating across the few inches between them. Draco's face was a bit fuller than when he had arrived in Godric's Hollow, he did not look like he was hungry now... or not for food. The expression in his eyes was a different matter. Harry realized he was staring and glanced away, looking at the dingy fixture on the ceiling instead..

"A Knut for your thoughts," said Draco softly after a few minutes' silence.

Harry chuckled. "That's a Muggle saying too, 'a penny for your thoughts.' I wonder which came first? But either way I'm not sure mine are worth even that much."

"They are to me." Draco touched a fingertip to the scar on Harry's forehead. "Don't you know that?"

The touch seared through him, not like the pain he felt through the connection with Voldemort, but like the magical fire Hermione had taught him, burning without consuming. This was just what Harry had thought, had feared, had hoped would happen. He could tell Draco no, not now; or not ever – but he knew that the last would be a lie, and his body betrayed him before he could summon the will to deny it. He reached for Draco.

"Wait," Draco whispered. "Are you doing this just because you're lonely, because you want a shag and I'm the one who's here?"

He could say yes. It would be so easy to say yes. Harry hesitated, torn.

"Never mind. It's all right if that's all you want," Draco said, but Harry could see the shadow on his face as he spoke the words.

He thought of Ginny. He visualized of her long red hair and freckled face, imagined her triumphant and gleeful on a broom, saw the look of defiant determination on her face as she insisted on going to the Ministry to help Sirius, remembered her fierce pride when he told her he had to break up with her. Ginny was everything he had ever thought he wanted. She was part of him, and that would never change. He loved her... but he could not have her now, and to wait alone was unendurable. A pang shot through him, and he looked at Draco.

"No. That's not all I want."

A smile like none Harry had ever seen lighted up Draco's face.

"Harry..." Draco pulled him into a tight embrace, and he could feel the other boy's heart beating as if it would come out of his chest.

Had he made the right decision? But there was nothing else he _could_ have done, thought Harry hazily as Draco kissed him. Somehow Draco had managed to place himself squarely alongside Ginny in the center of Harry's world, and there was no denying that, unless he wanted to lie to himself as well as Draco.

Draco was peeling off his shirt now, reaching toward Harry to tug at his. "Come on."

He was too eager to worry about clothes, undoing the zip of his jeans with hasty fingers but not bothering to push them down past his knees, his cock already straining to be free as he pulled at cotton and elastic. He groaned as Draco's fingers worked him, he wasn't going to be able to wait... but Draco didn't seem to mind, he was just as frantic, rubbing against Harry's hip without even taking his own jeans off, though the metal of the zip had to be uncomfortable. Harry felt the fabric grow damp as Draco came and was obscurely pleased that he had held out longer, though within another minute he had made Draco's jeans wet from the outside, too.

"I wonder how Muggles cope," was Draco's comment as he belatedly undressed and cast a quick cleaning spell.

"They just live with it... or use a towel, I expect," said Harry, watching Draco fold his clothes in precise rectangles and stack them on the other bed before walking back over to Harry's. Draco was slim, not quite as bony as Ron, but less muscular than himself, Harry observed. He seemed unembarrassed to be naked in front of Harry, except that he kept his left arm turned to hide the Dark Mark as much as possible. Even the scars on his torso did not appear to bother him. Harry traced those as Draco lay down next to him again.

"I did that, didn't I? I hadn't really looked before."

"Yeah, those were from you." Draco shivered.

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured against Draco's neck. He felt Draco's arms slide around him and squeeze as Draco shrugged.

"Just don't do it again, okay?"

"I wasn't planning to."

"Oh, did you have other plans?" Draco sounded amused and curious. "Long-range ones, perhaps?"

"Some... you know what they are. Find the Horcruxes, destroy them, kill Voldemort." Harry made himself say it without emotion.

"And then?"

The same question Ginny had asked – what will you do when You-Know-Who is defeated, Harry? And he had no real answer.

"I wanted to try to become an Auror. Although if I don't go back to Hogwarts and take my N.E.W.T.s, I guess I won't have much chance of that. What about you?"

"I never really had to think about it," said Draco. "My father doesn't work, you know. I expected the same would be true for me. But now that's not so likely."

"Because he's in Azkaban?" Harry supposed that might make a difference. Did someone who was sent to the wizarding prison get to keep his property? Perhaps it was confiscated by the Ministry.

"No, not because of that." Draco's fingers trembled slightly as he brushed them across Harry's chest. "Because... because of you."

"Me? Oh, the Unbreakable Vow? You mean your parents will cut you off because you took that?"

"Perhaps. Although if you defeat V- Voldemort, I think they'll forgive me for something that links the family to the winning side. But not if I stay with you afterward."

Harry shook his head, confused. "But the Vow won't end just because I win. If I win. And there wouldn't be another side to choose, then. So how could you help staying with you?"

"I mean," Draco enunciated each word carefully, "if I stay with _you_, Harry. Like this. Tonight. Permanently."

"Wait a minute. Permanently?" Harry twisted his head so that he could look Draco in the eye. "I never said _anything_ about permanently. You didn't either."

"You said this wasn't just you wanting a shag for the night," said Draco.

"And it wasn't. Isn't. But it's a long way from saying that I wanted to be with you tonight for reasons beyond loneliness and horniness to saying that I want to be with you forever, don't you think?"

Draco was stubbornly quiet, and Harry grew angry.

"Don't make assumptions like that, Draco. I mean it. I like you. Merlin knows why, but I do. I like having sex with you, a lot." Harry felt his face growing hot as he said that. "Right now, that's where I stand. Who knows what'll happen tomorrow or next week or next month? Maybe we'll get bored with each other, you know that happens all the time. Maybe I'll get killed, or you will. So just... don't assume anything."

"Okay, Harry. I apologize." Draco sounded sincerely sorry as he spoke. "That was stupid of me, I admit it."

"Yes, it was." Harry held his glare for a moment longer, but could not stay cross. It _was_ flattering, after all, to have Draco wanting more for them than just a few sweaty encounters, even if Harry was taken aback that Draco seemed to be already thinking in terms of months or years. He changed the subject.

"Anyway. If you _did_ have to work, for some reason, what would you do?"

"I never gave it much thought, as I said."

"Well, what do you like? What're you good at?"

"Besides this?" Draco's hand wandered down Harry's stomach.

"Don't try to distract me."

"Well, Potions, you know that. I got an O in my O.W.L.s in Potions."

"What else?"

"I'm not bad at Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Quite good in Charms, so-so in Herbology."

"Did you take anything else for N.E.W.T.-levels? Divination? Arithmancy? Muggle Studies?" Harry tossed in the last purely as a joke.

"My parents would have thrown a fit if I'd taken Muggle Studies... but I've read the textbooks each year."

At Harry's look of surprise, he shrugged. "Crabbe and Goyle both took it, it's supposed to be dead easy, you know. I read the books so I could quiz them. Besides, if I ever wanted to go into politics – the upper levels of the Ministry, not the dull office jobs – it could be useful. I've heard Fudge complaining about the amount of liaising with Muggles that his job sometimes requires. Not sure I'd enjoy it either."

"No, I can't quite see you liking that," said Harry, feeling that was the understatement of the year. Draco had managed to be polite enough to Hermione's parents, but he still clearly thought that Muggles were far inferior to wizards. "Nor running a shop, for instance."

"Certainly not. It wouldn't be suitable, anyhow. Quidditch... I'd like that, but I don't think I'm good enough to fly professionally," Draco said. "I do know my limitations... most of the time. I suppose I'll wait and see what happens. As you said, maybe I'll get killed, then I won't need to think about it. I'd rather think about other things." The same devious grin he had had earlier was back on his face. "Such as whether you're ticklish _here_, for one." He tickled Harry's side.

"Nope, not ticklish at all," said Harry, "but since you're trying it on me, I suspect _you_ might be, yourself." He tickled back, with great success: Draco nearly fell out of the bed, writhing and laughing.

"St... st... stop, Harry, please," he wheezed.

Harry continued for another minute, just to show Draco he could, but then he did stop.

"I think the last time someone did that to me I was about six years old. My father, it must have been."

The notion of Lucius Malfoy playing tickling games with a young Draco startled Harry, although he supposed it should not seem so peculiar. Mothers and fathers did play with their children. Even Death Eaters, evidently.

"No one ever tickled me like that, not that I can remember," said Harry. "Maybe my parents when I was a baby, but certainly not Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon."

"They sound awful."

"They are. But I'm not planning to ever go back and live there again, if I can help it... and I can, now. They'll be happy to be shut of me, and the feeling's mutual."

Draco opened his mouth and shut it again without speaking, instead kissing Harry on the temple and curling up next to him. Harry was again very aware that neither of them was wearing anything as he felt Draco's warm body press against his own.

"We're going back to the Weasleys' tomorrow night, right?"

"Yeah, that's what I said this morning."

"And if Hermione gets permission or information or whatever's needed from McGonagall to get me into the Black house the next day, then what?"

"What do you mean? I suppose we'll all go there and try to Transfigure the Mark, see what happens."

"No, I mean, it's _your_ house, right, even if the Order uses it as a headquarters? Would you want to stay there."

"Not really. I told you, it's not a nice place... Sirius hated it. I don't like it myself."

"Oh." Draco sighed.

"Why, do you _want_ to stay there?"

"I was just thinking that it would be... private. And Thursday's your birthday, isn't it? I wanted to do something nice for you. I missed getting to celebrate my own coming-of-age birthday this year."

The feel of Draco's cock, once more hard and prodding against him, told Harry just what sort of nice thing Draco probably had in mind, but he asked anyhow.

"Such as?"

Draco laughed. "If I told you, it wouldn't be much of a surprise, would it? And gifts are better when they're surprises, I think."

"Hmph. I suppose we could stay there for a night and see how awful it is... assuming we can go there at all, that is." Harry snaked his arm around Draco's waist. "Those privacy charms you cast _here_ should still be working just fine, though. Fancy a shag?"

"Direct son of a siren, aren't you?" With surprising strength, Draco rolled over on top of Harry and pinned him to the bed. "I think I could come to like that Gryffindor trait."


	24. Back to the Burrow

**24. Back to the Burrow**

Persuading Harry to leave the pub had been difficult. Persuading him to do anything else looked like a far greater challenge. Harry had practically snapped Draco's head off as they walked, and now he was lying on his bed, sulking. He had not even removed his shoes.

Draco repressed a sigh and cast a couple of quick spells to ensure their privacy, even though Harry did not seem to be in a mood where that would be necessary. But perhaps he could be distracted...

"I wanted to ask you about the mysterious place that Hermione was talking about this morning," Draco said, sitting down and unlacing Harry's trainers. No need to be uncivilized, after all.

When he had met Kreacher, it had struck him as odd that Harry did not stay in the Black house. There had to be some reason. So he was only half-surprised when Harry told him it was the house he had inherited from his godfather that was Hermione's suggested safe place.

"Sirius is another who might still be alive if it weren't for me," Harry said. "Just like Cedric. Still sure you want to stick around?"

"Yes." Draco let the "of course" remain unspoken and steered the conversation in a less painful direction. "But why's the house so well-protected?" After all, a building that was already Unplottable should hardly require a Fidelius Charm on it as well.

Harry seemed reluctant to explain, asking Draco to promise to keep the secret. That did not bother Draco too much, although Harry should have realized that the Unbreakable Vow covered this information... at least, it would keep Draco from passing it on to Voldemort or any Death Eater. Not that he had any intention of doing that. No, what made Draco angry was that Harry refused Draco's oath on his family name, something that was far more meaningful to him than the wand he substituted for it in his promise. A wand was merely a piece of wood, after all – special, but utterly replaceable. Family, on the other hand, was part of oneself, unique and abiding; without one's family, one would be nothing. Draco swallowed his annoyance for the moment, reminding himself that Harry had never had living family that mattered anything to him. One of these days, though he would have to convey just what family meant and ought to mean. He listened as Harry went on.

Evidently the Black house was the headquarters of a secret group organized by Dumbledore to counter Voldemort's attempts to regain power – a kind of anti-Death Eater cabal. Dumbledore had placed the location of the house under Fidelius to protect this group.

Harry described the house as being full of Dark magic and Dark creatures. That was only to be expected, there were a number of Dark magic items in the Malfoy mansion as well, but the portrait of his great-aunt – or was she a cousin? It was only by marriage in either case – Black did sound dreadful, shrieking at the members of the Order as they walked by. Dreadful, but very like what he remembered hearing about her from his mother. A thought struck him.

"I wonder if the trick we played on Kreacher might work to deceive the portrait of Mrs. Black?" He stretched out on the bed next to Harry, careful not to touch him. Harry still seemed somewhat aloof and Draco had decided it was best not to push him quite yet.

"Pretending I was your hostage, so she'd think someone she approved of, someone who supported pureblood dominance, had taken possession of the house? That might work," said Harry, his expression softening a little, looking almost admiring. "You'd have the gratitude of the whole Order, I expect."

"Aren't you a member?"

"No. They wouldn't let me join, I'm underage. And if they find out I've told you all this, they'll probably refuse _ever_ to let me join."

Why Harry would care about belonging to the Order of the Phoenix escaped Draco, when Harry was doing much more direct work against Voldemort by searching for the Horcruxes. But Harry said nothing further, only looking at Draco, the tightness around his eyes and mouth that Draco was learning to read as defensiveness or misgiving appearing once more.

After a while, Draco said, "A Knut for your thoughts, then."

"My thoughts aren't worth a Knut," Harry replied, turning his face away from Draco to look at the ceiling. The movement caused his ever-unruly dark hair to fall away from his forehead, revealing the jagged scar that marked him as Voldemort's rival.

Draco ran a gentle fingertip over the pale line. "They are to me."

Harry hissed in a breath, and Draco feared that by touching the scar he had caused Harry pain. But he was wrong: Harry was reaching out to him, trying to pull him close.

His first thought was to resist. "Is this just because you're lonely, Harry, because I'm here and you want a shag?" He did not want to be Harry's second prize, used because Ginny was unavailable.

When Harry did not answer immediately, though, Draco decided that tonight he would settle for what he could get. "Never mind. It's all right if that's all you want."

"No. That's not all I want," said Harry, his voice almost inaudible – but he would not have said it at all, if he did not mean it, would he? Harry was no good at dissembling.

Relief and joy washed through Draco. Murmuring Harry's name, he began to kiss him, knocking his glasses askew. Harry somehow managed to shove down his jeans; Draco licked his palm to ease the friction and fisted Harry's cock, too impatient to match Harry's urgency to do anything more for himself than rub up against Harry's hip. The thought that Harry _wanted_ him, for _himself_, not just for sex, was ironically unbearably arousing, and Draco came with a rush, sticky inside his jeans, even before Harry did. He did not mind the mess and discomfort and haste, not this time, not now that he knew there would be a future for them.

They talked, afterward, about what each of them had thought to do after Hogwarts. Now it would be after Voldemort's death, of course, since Draco could not and Harry would not return to school. Harry wanted to become an Auror. That was no surprise. Draco had never expected to have to take any job, but now... if his parents survived the war, they would not likely be keen on supporting a son who was openly the partner of the Boy Who Lived, and he told Harry so. He did not anticipate Harry's anger when he said it.

"Don't make assumptions that this is permanent, Draco," Harry warned him. "I like you, I like having sex with you, a lot. But that's where it stands – who knows what will happen? We could get killed, or injured, or just bored with each other. Who knows? Just don't assume."

He _had_ rather jumped to conclusions, Draco realized in dismay, vexed with himself. He should have known better. Just because he had spent six years pretending to despise Harry, wishing things were otherwise, did not mean Harry had done so. And beside those years of enmity, there were Harry's feelings for Ginny to reckon with too. He might like being with Draco, but he had never said anything to indicate that he was through with Ginny... in fact, the way he had been talking with her the previous night suggested otherwise. Unfortunately.

"I apologize, Harry, that was stupid of me." That was the best he could do to smooth things over. He would try to be more reticent from now on, until and unless Harry gave some indication that the depth of his feelings matched Draco's.

Harry accepted the apology and returned to talking about careers, a topic that did not exactly hold Draco's entire attention. He tried the tactic of tickling Harry to distract him, but it backfired: Harry proved not to be ticklish at all, and he turned the tables on Draco very effectively by tickling back, something that Draco had not experienced since he was a small child. His father had used to chase him and sweep him up in his arms to tickle him until Draco could not breathe for laughing. It was a good memory... he had not thought of his father so in far too long, and felt a rush of gratitude towards Harry for making him recall it.

What could he do for Harry in return? Something for his birthday perhaps, something that he was sure Harry would enjoy and that might also, Draco hoped, strengthen his feelings for Draco. Sex was not the only thing between them, but it definitely mattered to Harry... and to Draco too. But in case Harry needed some persuasion, it would be pleasanter if they were really alone, not in a hostel and certainly not at the Weasleys'. So he asked Harry if it might not be possible to stay at the Black house, assuming Draco could go there at all, since it _was_ Harry's now. He pressed up against Harry, exerting all the charm he could muster, and Harry gave a reluctant assent to the plan.

He was distinctly receptive to the idea of more fun in bed tonight, however. "Fancy a shag?" he inquired, with one arm sliding around Draco's waist and the other hand dropping his glasses to the floor.

Direct and forthright had its attractions. Draco rolled them both over until he had Harry pinned underneath him – not that the Gryffindor could not squirm away if he tried, but he made no such effort as Draco began to lick his way down Harry's chest, nibbling at the smooth and slightly salty skin.

When Draco reached one nipple with his lips and pinched the other between his fingers, Harry gasped. Ah... if he liked this, well, his birthday ought to be a real pleasure. Draco licked, then blew out his breath softly, watching gooseflesh appear as the nipple tightened. He used his left knee to push Harry's legs apart far enough that he could kneel between them, leaning forward to let their cocks rub together.

"Mm... yeah..." Harry was arching his back, thrusting up against Draco, his hips rocking, dark eyelashes nearly obscuring those so-green eyes, mouth barely open and temptingly snoggable.

Shameless, Draco thought. If it were only about the sex, he was sure that Harry would give up Ginny Weasley in a heartbeat. But he knew that sex wasn't the only thing that was important to Harry. It wasn't the only thing Draco cared about either, for that matter, and he reluctantly had to acknowledge that Harry's ambivalence was understandable... but that did not mean he had to _like_ it.

Irritated with himself for dwelling on the negatives when there were so many positives – like the fact that Harry's hands had found their way down to grip Draco's arse and pull him closer – Draco kissed Harry more roughly, perhaps, than he intended, but oh it felt good to ride him like this, sweat beginning to slick both their bodies as they moved, and Draco could tell that Harry's need for the physicality of it to blot out all thought for a while matched his own.

Harry broke from the kiss, panting, and sucked fiercely at Draco's neck. Merlin, did he know how much that turned Draco on? He must, Harry was groaning now – no, that was himself, he couldn't tell them apart any longer, in this tangle of limbs and sounds and sweat, and when orgasm took him he didn't know if he had come, or Harry, or both.

"That was..." Harry's voice trailed away.

"Yeah. It was," said Draco, rolling off to one side without breaking contact. He could feel his hair clinging to his forehead and neck.

"Can you reach my glasses?"

Draco felt around on the floor and handed them to Harry.

"How much can you see without those?" he asked, suddenly curious as he watched Harry settle them on his nose.

Harry took the glasses off again and squinted. "I can see you, but the other bed's a bit dodgy, and the door's completely blurred. Why?"

"Just wondered." Draco stretched, feeling more content than he had done in ages, sticky dampness notwithstanding. He supposed it was being with Harry that did it. "It must be getting late."

"Yeah. We should probably get some sleep."

Draco waited to see if Harry would send him off to his own bed again, as he had done in Aberdeen, but Harry made no such suggestion. Instead he passed his glasses back to Draco.

"I guess I won't need these after all."

Feeling oddly shy, Draco kissed Harry's cheek. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Draco." A pause. "Oh, blast, the light's still on."

"I'll get it," Draco said, since Harry was on the side of the bed by the wall. He hopped out and switched out the light, then crawled back in next to Harry, who twisted slightly to fit their bodies together better on the narrow mattress. Draco smiled and closed his eyes.

Their third day of searching the Riddle house in Little Hangleton yielded no better results than the first two had. By the end of it they had gone over every square inch of walls, floors, and ceilings, every scrap of furniture, and had found nothing at all that could possibly be a Horcrux. Not if Dumbledore's ideas about what objects Voldemort would choose were correct. Draco had watched Harry's mouth set into an increasingly grim line with each room that they left empty-handed.

"It would have been too easy if it were here," he offered as they finished the last room. "Surely there were other Muggles living in it after his family. Didn't you say it was sold?"

"I think it was. You're right, but..." Harry's face was twisted with frustration. "I just want to find _one_ of them, you know? If I can just find one Horcrux, I'll feel that I've made the right choice, that eventually I'll find them all. I really hoped one of them would be here, and there aren't any, are there?"

"No, it doesn't seem so. I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry exhaled a gusty sigh. "Yeah. Well. Back to the Burrow, then? Maybe the others'll have had more success."

Once again they Apparated into the Weasleys' back garden, where Ginny was sitting alone, looking bored and irritable.

"Mum wouldn't let me Floo in with Ron," she explained, "but he should be back soon, he managed to arrange to speak with Tonks today. And Hermione met with Professor McGonagall yesterday – she's been holed up in Dad's study with a tremendous stack of books from the Hogwarts library ever since, muttering over them. Every time I go in to ask if she wants help or even just a cup of tea, she either snaps at me or doesn't seem to know I'm there. Both, usually. So I came outside to wait for you. I'm totally useless, Harry."

"You're not," said Harry.

"I am," Ginny insisted. "I'm not being of any help at all."

"Well, we haven't exactly had any ringing successes, so you needn't feel bad about it, at any rate. There were no signs that any Horcrux had ever been hidden in the Riddle house. I suppose Hogwarts is the next place to try, but that'll be nearly impossible to search thoroughly. There's the whole castle, the grounds, the forest – not to mention that surely Dumbledore searched there, or had someone else looking – so any Horcrux wouldn't be in an easy or obvious place, it'll be very well-hidden. This could take years."

Discouragement was plain on Harry's face. Draco wanted to wrap his arms tightly around the other boy, to promise him that it would all work out somehow, but he could not. He had no idea whether Harry could really manage to find and destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes, although he agreed that it was the only chance to defeat the Dark Lord. Ginny's being there kept him from giving Harry any tangible sympathy. It was an odd and troubling realization that very likely Ginny felt equally inhibited by Draco's presence, even without knowing that Draco and Harry were rather more than friends, now.

"Shall we go in and see if Hermione's willing to knock off for the day and talk about whatever she's found?" Draco suggested.

Ginny pulled a face. "_You_ interrupt her, then. But she'll bite your head off."

"Harry'll do it."

When Harry looked at him dubiously, Draco shrugged. "She's doing the research for you, so you're the one she's most likely to talk to, right?"

"I suppose so."

"You're both mental, but it's up to you," said Ginny.

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry called as they walked into the house, "Any chance you could show us where we could wash our clothes tonight? Mine are getting a bit rank."

"Oh, goodness, give them to me. I'll take care of it, dear," Molly Weasley said, appearing through a doorway. She looked at Draco and held out her hand. "I imagine yours will want doing as well, won't they?"

"Thank you," said Draco, surprised, and let her take his rucksack along with Harry's. His mother would never have remarked on whether a guest's clothing needed laundering; she would simply assume that the house-elves would take care of such matters as needed, as their standing orders required. And of course they would, efficiently and unobtrusively. Having Mrs. Weasley offer to wash his clothes herself made Draco feel welcomed yet embarrassed at the same time. He put the feeling aside to think about later, following Ginny and Harry along the hallway.

"Hermione?" Harry knocked at a closed door. There was no response. He opened the door and beckoned to the other two to follow him. "Hermione?"

Hermione was nearly hidden behind a pile of books so tall that Draco wondered why it didn't topple over.

"What is it?" Her voice was muffled and impatient. "I'm in the mid... oh. Harry." There was a scraping sound and Hermione emerged, her bushy brown hair looking even more disordered than usual. She stretched and winced, one hand going to the small of her back. "Is it that late already? I thought it was only mid-afternoon."

"It's nearly six o'clock, Hermione," Harry said.

"Oh... is Ron back yet?"

"Any time now," said Ginny. "I'd've helped you, you know, if you'd asked."

"I'm sorry, Ginny," Hermione said, although Draco thought she looked more impatient than sorry. "I'm used to doing this sort of research by myself. Harry and Ron aren't usually very helpful."

"Hey!" Harry protested. "That's unfair. Draco and I did pretty well working out possible Transfiguration spells, you know."

One narrow shoulder moved up and down. "True enough, but based on past experience at Hogwarts..."

Draco found himself pleased by Harry's giving him due credit and annoyed by Hermione's criticism of Harry, both at once. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that Harry and Hermione had been friends since their first year at Hogwarts and Hermione knew how far she could go. "Did you find out if you can take me to this secret place you were talking about?" he asked, trying to divert her.

Hermione nodded. "Tomorrow morning several people will be coming to escort you, Harry, Ron, and me there."

"Leaving me out, I notice," Ginny said. "As usual."

"It could be dangerous. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have Ron or Hermione there either," said Harry.

Silently Draco agreed, about Ron at least. He could not imagine how Ron's presence would be helpful, but the decision was not his to make.

"If you can persuade your mum and dad, Ginny – I'm sure we'll be Apparating, flying would be too risky in the daytime, and you can't Apparate on your own. Someone would have to agree to bring you. Besides, the Headmistress only named the four of us," Hermione said.

Ginny glared at them all, then turned on her heel and walked out.

"Harry?"

"I'll talk to her," Harry agreed, and left too.

Draco remained alone with Hermione, who put her head to one side and looked at him intently.

"What?" Her stare made him uncomfortable.

"I asked Harry this," she said slowly. "Now I'll ask you. Do you know what you're doing?"

He did not pretend not to understand what she was talking about. "Yes... and no."

She lifted her palm, inviting him to go on.

How much did he trust Muggle-born Hermione Granger? Enough to let her cast the Unbreakable Vow for him, enough to let her try to Transfigure the Dark Mark tomorrow. So why was he reluctant to speak now? Because he had not even told Harry all of how he felt, that was why.

"I want to be with him," Draco said finally.

"Whatever it takes?" Hermione's eyes were shrewd, intent on his. "Even if he doesn't want to be with you?"

"No." He was clear on that. He would accept being second best – for a while – but if Harry genuinely did not want him after all... well, Draco did not want anyone's pity. "Don't meddle in my, our, business, Hermione."

"You don't see it, do you? Harry needs to be strong, focused. This can only distract him. Confuse him. I'm his friend – I don't want _anything_ to make it harder for him to do what he must. He's the only one with a chance to defeat Voldemort." Her face paled, but she said the name unflinchingly. "If you being with him does that, I will do whatever is necessary to get you away."

"Maybe Harry _needs_ someone to distract him. He's told me that when it comes down to the end, he'll have to kill Voldemort or be killed by him. That would terrify me. Wouldn't it you? And it certainly distresses Harry. Don't you think that maybe having someone around who'll keep his mind off that would be a benefit, not a hindrance?" Draco argued back.

"And why not Ginny, then? Why you?"

"Ask Harry that, not me," said Draco. "He broke up with Ginny weeks ago. I had nothing to do with it."

"He doesn't like to hurt people. You might be keeping him from changing his mind, going back to her," Hermione said.

"Not ruddy likely. I'm supposed to help him, or don't you remember the Vow? To 'help and protect him in any need' is what I swore. If he needs Ginny, that's that. I'm out of the picture. But it hasn't happened."

She smiled unexpectedly. "All right. I believe you. And your secret's safe with me... but I think you should both be careful. Around Ginny, that is. Ron wouldn't notice unless the two of you were snogging in front of him, and maybe not then. And their mum already knows."

"What?" Draco's hand clenched around the wand in his pocket. "How?"

"I told her. Don't be a fool, Draco, why do you think the Weasleys were so willing to have you to stay here, when you've never even been polite to them in public, much less a friend of any of ours? Ron told them about the Vow, but Mrs. Weasley asked me later if there was some other reason to take you in... so I told her that Harry's opinion of you had changed rather significantly even before the Vow. I don't think she really was keen on the idea of Ginny and Harry together... I'm not sure why," Hermione said thoughtfully. "In any case she seemed quite all right with you being with Harry."

If it had been someone else, Draco would have assumed she was quite all right with him being with Harry because it was a potentially valuable piece of information – the Malfoy heir, a queer. All sorts of profitable ways to use that, from blackmail to simply selling the news to the _Daily Prophet_. But somehow he could not believe that Molly Weasley would ever think that way, now that he had met her. He had no more idea than Hermione did why she would not want to see Ginny with Harry, he was just pleased that Hermione thought it was so.

He let out a long slow breath. "Okay."

"Now that's settled, I expect Ron must be here by now, and his dad too. Which means dinner. Come on," Hermione said.

At dinner they were arranged differently from how they had been on Monday. Tonight Hermione sat between Ron and Ginny on one long side, Draco and Harry on the other, with Mrs. Weasley at the foot of the table between her daughter and Draco. He felt peculiar about it, but she gave no hint of her knowledge, alternately talking about a sweater she was knitting for her new daughter-in-law and pressing him to take more helpings of everything within reach.

"Mum," Ginny interrupted a stitch-by-stitch description of a neckline, "please, can't I go with the others tomorrow?"

Mrs. Weasley looked flustered. "I shouldn't think so, dear. I don't really see what you could possibly do, so there's no reason for you to go. And it doesn't sound very safe, from what Hermione was telling us last night."

"But Ron's going, and it's not as if he'll have anything useful to do," Ginny complained. "You and Dad want to keep me wrapped up in cotton wool all my life."

"Ron's of age, Ginny."

She turned a look of pure frustration on her mother, then bent her head over her plate. Draco felt sorry for her, but he had no desire to interfere with what he thought was the right decision. He swallowed a bite of potato, and asked, "What was that about a double seed stitch, Mrs. Weasley?"

When everyone had finished eating, Draco helped Harry to clear the table, although Mrs. Weasley shooed them out of the kitchen when Harry made a half-hearted attempt to begin washing up.

"She never lets me or Ron do that," Harry said in an undertone to Draco. "Thinks we'll break the dishes, I expect."

And the Weasleys would be hard-pressed to replace anything broken beyond the ability of a _Reparo_ spell to fix, thought Draco.

"So, Ron, did Tonks have anything to tell you about Horcruxes?" Hermione inquired when they were back in the other room.

"A bit." Ron leaned against the battered sofa cushions and stretched out his legs. "She said that historically, the few wizards who have created Horcruxes made them from valuable objects, things that wouldn't be discarded or destroyed by accident and wouldn't decay with time. No one would make a jug of pumpkin juice into a Horcrux."

"But did she say anything about how to tell if an object _is_ one?" asked Harry. "That's what we really need to know."

Ron screwed up his face. "Apparently there's a spell that can check for the presence of a wizard's soul in an object. But it's difficult and you have to have something else of the wizard's already, to match it up with."

"Match the resonances?" said Hermione.

"Yeah, that was the word Tonks used. So we'd need something that You-Know-Who has handled."

"How can we possibly find an object like that?"

"Could we use the Mark on my arm?" offered Draco. "He's touched that."

"I don't know," said Hermione. "Since you're alive, and another wizard at that, it might make it difficult to distinguish his resonance from yours. But we can try. Ron, did Tonks tell you what the spell is, or where to find it?"

"She didn't know it herself, said she'd never needed it, but she thought Professor Flitwick might."

"If we're going to try to use Draco's Mark as the source of Voldemort's resonance, though, I'll have to learn the spell as soon as possible. We won't be able to attempt altering the Mark until we've tried that first. I'd better see if I can get through to Professor Flitwick tonight by Floo." Hermione hurried out, Draco presumed to use the Weasleys' fireplace to contact Hogwarts.

"She didn't ever tell us what she was searching for in all those books today," Harry grumbled. "Do you know, Ron?"

Ron shook his head. "No, but I can tell you who'll be here tomorrow to go with us. Lupin and Tonks. Kingsley was supposed to meet us there, but he's been working at the Muggle Prime Minister's office and can't get away. So either McGonagall or Moody, most likely. Tonks wasn't sure which of them."

Draco hoped it would be McGonagall. She might be the head of Gryffindor house, but she was scrupulously fair and far less intimidating than Moody. He doubted that she would hold him up to shame for having taken the Dark Mark, when he had had very little choice in the matter. And with her years of experience teaching Transfiguration, if the spells that he and Harry had come up with to remove the Mark failed to work, she might have better ideas on how to proceed than the Auror.

To pass the time until Hermione came back, Harry suggested a game. Draco declined, opting instead just to watch as Harry, Ron, and Ginny played a noisy few rounds of Exploding Snap. Ginny was very good at it, and seemed to lose some of her gloominess as she beat her brother and Harry in hand after hand.

It was close to an hour before Hermione returned and sat next to Draco on the sofa, while the other three were engrossed in their game.

"Was Professor Flitwick able to tell you about the spell?"

"Yes. And by sheer good luck one of the books I brought back from Hogwarts yesterday has the information; I went and looked at it, and I _think_ I can do it. I really don't know if using the Mark is going to work for matching the resonances, but if I can distinguish Voldemort's from yours, there's a way to copy it to another object. So we'd still be able to try to remove the Mark afterward. Anyway, I think it's more important to do that, there's bound to be something else somewhere that Voldemort has handled and that we could use to help locate Horcruxes," said Hermione. She shifted her shoulders and twisted her head from side to side. "My mum always warns me about studying so much, and I think she's right. I'm all stiff."

"Sit here." Draco indicated the floor in front of him.

"Why?"

"I used to give Pansy shoulder rubs when she'd been studying for a long time. Come on. She said I was rather good at it."

Hermione looked dubious, but she came and sat cross-legged between Draco's knees. He pushed her hair out of the way and started by pressing his thumbs along the vertebrae in her neck, using his other fingers to dig into the knots of muscle in her shoulders. She gave a little sigh after the first several minutes, and he could feel her begin to relax.

He had not forgotten who else was in the room, and rather as he expected, not ten minutes had passed before Ron called out, "Oi, Malfoy, what do you think you're doing?"

"Giving Hermione a shoulder rub," he answered calmly, not stopping.

"If anyone's going to do that, I should."

"By all means." Draco lifted his hands from her back as the other three left the game and came over.

"Ron, don't be an idiot," said Hermione crossly. "What, do you think Draco's chasing after me, or something?"

"Not likely. No offense," said Draco.

"None taken."

"Why, isn't she good enough for you?" snapped Ron.

"She's not my type, that's all, any more than I'm hers," Draco said. "Go on, Hermione, let Ron give it a go. It's not as easy as it looks to do well. Ginny? Harry? I'd be happy to do someone else instead."

Ginny shook her head. Draco caught Harry's eye and raised his eyebrows, tacitly asking if Harry was willing to let Draco touch him in front of the others.

"Why let Hermione get all the benefit?" said Harry, moving to sit in front of Draco as Hermione shifted over to Ron. "Here, Ginny. I'll do what I can."

Not quite what Draco wanted... but good enough. And no one else would be paying attention if he occasionally slipped from massage to caress. He would go no further, not here, tonight.


	25. To the Black House

**25. To the Black House**

It's just sex, Harry reminded himself. That's not enough to make long-term assumptions about a relationship. But it was hard to hold that thought when Draco's tongue was doing such deliciously erotic things against his own. He pulled Draco closer, turning his head to bite at Draco's neck, feeling the other boy shudder as they rocked together, sweat-dampened skin sliding over skin. Draco gave a hiss that turned into a groan, clutching at Harry's shoulders as he came, his last thrusts sending Harry over the edge as well.

Oh yes, it felt good, but even better than the physical release was the way Draco looked at him, as if there were nothing else in the world right now.

"That was..." Harry began, not sure if he wanted to say "marvelous" or "perfect" or some other word – nothing he could think of could convey all of how he felt.

"Yeah. It was." Draco's mouth moved against his neck in a smile.

"Can you reach my glasses?"

Without them on, Draco's hair was a gilt blur, his features softened. Suddenly Harry wanted to see those lips reddened by kissing, that narrow nose, each golden lash as Draco blinked. But it was late, and they still had another day of searching at Little Hangleton to get through. Draco went to turn out the light. Harry was glad when he came back into the bed although they both might sleep less soundly on the narrow mattress. It felt right to have Draco warm and solid beside him. He shifted a little to let Draco's body fit more closely against his own, and fell asleep wondering what it was Draco was planning for his birthday.

When they Apparated back to the Riddle house for one last attempt at locating a Horcrux there, Harry was determined to leave not one inch uninspected. They went over the second floor, mercifully free of furniture to slow them down, and then through the cellar. It was Draco who pointed out that there probably _was_ a cellar to check – Harry had given it no thought, since the closest the Dursleys had to such a thing was his old closet under the stairs. But one room after another proved empty, with no sign of a Horcrux.

"I just wanted to find _one_," Harry burst out when they had finished empty-handed. "Just one, to show that I'm on the right track. Is that too much to ask?"

Draco's voice was sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Harry."

It was not Draco's fault, there was no point in taking out his frustration on him. Harry hoped that when they went to the Burrow, Hermione or Ron might have better news.

Ginny met them in the back garden. She was in no better mood than Harry; Ron had left her behind while he went to London to speak with Tonks, and evidently Hermione had, as so often, disappeared alone with a stack of books, so Ginny was feeling useless. Well, Harry could understand that.

The three of them went inside to pry Hermione out of Mr. Weasley's study. She evaded saying what she had been looking for, but told Harry and Draco that Professor McGonagall had agreed that the two of them, plus Ron and Hermione, should go to the Black house the next day with several members of the Order to try removing the Dark Mark from Draco's arm.

At hearing that she would once again be excluded, Ginny stalked out of the room. Harry went after her. He could be reasonably certain that Draco and Hermione would get along all right for the moment... he spared a moment to wonder at that. Perhaps it was because Draco had been forced to stay with the Grangers that he had realized Muggles, and their witch and wizard offspring, were not really so different from purebloods as he had always been taught.

Harry found Ginny out behind the broom shed, pounding her fist against the stone walls.

"Don't, Ginny."

Her eyes were redder than her hair when she turned towards him. "You don't understand."

"Yeah, I do." He caught her hand as she lifted it once again. "Come here."

They sat down with their backs against the shed, and Harry put his arm around Ginny's shoulders. Ten weeks ago he would have given anything to be alone with her like this. Now...

"No one trusts that I can do anything. It's not fair. Just because I'm the youngest, and their only girl, Mum and Dad think I shouldn't be helping you. Ron's no better than I am, not at spells or flying or _anything_, he's had a year more of school, that's all."

"I know," Harry said. It cost him something to add what he had never wanted to admit. "When you were in the Department of Mysteries with the rest of us last year, you did really well, Ginny. I was glad you were there, even though I'd tried to keep you away."

"So why not this time? I know there's probably nothing much I can do, it's not like there will be a fight against Death Eaters," she managed a watery grin at him, "but how can it hurt?"

"There _could_ be Death Eaters, actually, if the way they home in on the Dark Mark overrides the Unplottability and Fidelius charms on the house. I don't think it's likely. But we really don't know what'll happen when we try to alter the Mark. I can't believe it will be easy. I'm sure some of the Death Eaters who pretended they'd been under the Imperius Curse would have removed their Marks when Voldemort seemed to be gone, to allay suspicion, if there were some straightforward way to do so," said Harry. "It would be a needless risk for you to go. As I said before, I'd really rather Ron didn't go either, and if Hermione weren't the best of us at Transfiguration, I'd feel the same about her."

Ginny sighed and leaned against him. Harry could smell the flowery scent she liked drifting up from her hair, reminding him of last spring. He wanted to keep her safe – little Ginny. Not so little any more, but he would always have that image of her in the back of his mind.

"I'm still going to try to persuade my parents to let me go along," she said.

Now it was Harry's turn to sigh. "I can't stop you doing that, but I wish you wouldn't. If they say yes, then of course you can come... and I'll be worried about you the whole time, in case something goes wrong. You and Hermione and Ron."

"Why not yourself? Why not Draco?"

"I guess because we both _have_ to be there. There's no point in worrying."

"_You_ don't have to be there," said Ginny. "The Order used Grimmauld Place without you all last year, and Professor McGonagall could perform whatever spell you've worked out on Draco."

"I promised Draco I would help him," said Harry quietly. "This is part of that."

"Humph. Not that good a reason. But you're of age tomorrow, no one can stop you going to your own house, I suppose." Ginny grimaced.

"Nope. Look, it must be time for dinner, and your mum'll probably shrink all my clothes till they wouldn't fit a house-elf if we're late," Harry said.

He was somewhat surprised that Ginny was not seated next to him at the dinner table again. Instead Mrs. Weasley had put her about as far away as possible, on the opposite corner and across from Draco.

Mr. Weasley had a funny story to tell about an incident at work, involving a pair of jinxed roller skates, a wading pool, and a hedgehog that had been mistaken for a knarl. Harry laughed when Ron and Hermione did, but he was only half-listening. He wanted to ask Mr. Weasley not to permit Ginny to go to Grimmauld Place tomorrow, but if he did and Ginny found out, she would be furious with him, and he couldn't blame her. He would just have to hope that her father would agree with her mother and forbid it.

When dinner was over, Harry volunteered to clear the table. It was far easier than clearing up after the Dursleys; Mrs. Weasley never allowed him to do more than carry the plates and bowls to the sink, whereas Aunt Petunia expected Harry to do all the washing-up as well. Rather to Harry's surprise, Draco helped. He would have expected Draco to think it was a chore suitable only for house-elves, and to leave it to someone else.

The five of them went and sat in the Weasleys' sitting room, talking. Ron had learned from Tonks that there was a spell, a difficult one of course, that enabled the caster to determine if an object had been enchanted by a particular wizard. "But you have to have something else belonging to that wizard, to match it up with."

That made matters tricky. It was not as if they had heaps of Tom Riddle's old school things lying about to use. Harry was pondering the problem when Draco said, "Could we use the Mark on my arm, since he's touched that? There could still be some resonance of his magic there."

Hermione thought it might be possible, though the fact that Draco himself was a living wizard would doubtless complicate things. She decided to go Floo Professor Flitwick to find out more about the spell.

There was little point in further discussion until Hermione came back, so Harry proposed a game of Exploding Snap. Draco demurred and curled up on the sofa to watch, but Ron and Ginny were both enthusiastic. Ginny's mood improved noticeably as she won hand after hand, and Harry was so engrossed in trying to beat her that he hardly noticed Hermione's return until Ron looked over with a scowl.

"Oi, Malfoy, what do you think you're doing?"

Giving Hermione a shoulder rub was what Draco was doing. Harmless, if unexpected. But it clearly annoyed Ron, and Draco left off with the snippy remark that giving a good massage was not as easy as it might look, and Ron was welcome to try if he thought Hermione would like it better.

"Ginny? Harry?" said Draco. "I'd be happy to give one to either of you instead." He caught Harry's eye, raising pale eyebrows as he did so.

Harry recognized that as a challenge, and admired Draco's ability to manipulate things so that he could touch Harry in front of the others without any of them thinking it odd. He was certain that was the reason Draco had given Hermione the shoulder rub in the first place.

"Why let Hermione get all the benefit?" Harry said lightly, seating himself in front of Draco. "Come here, Ginny, and I'll do you." That should keep Ginny from any suspicions, he felt, and Ron and Hermione were only paying attention to each other.

It was remarkable how skilled Draco was at massage. Who would have thought there would be such power in those slim elegant hands? But his firm kneading chased away every knot in Harry's shoulders, dissolving tension he had hardly recognized he had. He knew that he was not doing anything like so well by Ginny, but it was difficult when he was becoming so relaxed himself.

Not all of him was relaxed, however. At intervals Draco leaned forward and his breath ghosted over Harry's neck, sending shivers down his spine and straight to his cock. Once or twice Draco slipped his hand under Harry's arm and brushed over his chest so that his nipples tightened. But Harry had to admit that Draco did not push it too far. Nothing he did would have been noticeable even if someone were watching, and if Harry reacted so strongly to such minor caresses, that was Harry's fault, not Draco's.

Nevertheless he was relieved when Ron declared that his wrists ached and he had had enough for the night. Draco's touch was tempting, but Harry was determined not to allow himself any untoward intimacies with Draco while at the Burrow. It seemed disrespectful to the Weasleys, especially Ginny.

He did, though, slip down to see Draco in Percy's old room and say goodnight while Ron was using the toilet.

"Tomorrow," Harry promised after a hasty embrace. "We'll be together tomorrow night."

"At your house. And I'll owe you a present," Draco agreed.

Harry went back up to Ron's room with a lighter heart than he would have expected, given his failure to discover any Horcruxes at the Riddle house over the previous several days. He was able to listen to Ron's talk about Auror training and Tonks's advice with nearly all his attention, and slept soundly, waking to Ron wishing him a happy birthday.

Lupin and Tonks arrived during breakfast the next morning, by which time Mrs. Weasley promised to make Harry a cake, and he had received gifts from Ginny, Hermione, and Ron. Lupin looked tired and unhappy, shabbier than ever, but he gave Harry a hug that he said ought to have been from Sirius.

He and Tonks refused Mrs. Weasley's offer to cook them some breakfast too. "We're supposed to meet Minerva at nine – don't want to risk being made late by one of your delicious meals, Molly, you know how she can be."

"Everyone ready?" asked Tonks, looking around as they stood in the garden.

"Just a minute," said Harry. Ginny had not come out of the house. He went inside and found her in the kitchen.

"Don't be upset, Ginny," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders. "At the rate we're going, there'll be plenty of time for you to help later."

She sighed. "Yeah. Right."

"I'm sorry." Harry had an impulse to tell her that he was sorry about a lot of things, not just because she was not allowed to go with the rest of them today, but she would not know what he meant. Explaining would only hurt her more and there was no time anyway.

"I know. Good luck today, Harry," she replied. She hesitated, then kissed him on the cheek quickly before pulling away and half-running toward the stairs, not looking back.

Everyone was waiting for him. Harry went back outside and they Apparated together to Grimmauld Place, Lupin taking Draco in a Side-Along Apparition. Number twelve was, as Harry expected, nowhere to be seen.

"Minerva should be here soon and then we can all get in," said Lupin.

"Oh..." Harry remembered Draco's suggestion. "Has the Order been using the house recently?"

"Not for over a month. Why?" Lupin asked.

"Draco had an idea about getting that portrait of old Mrs. Black down, but it won't work if she sees us all come in together. He thinks he might be able to trick her into telling him how. Do you suppose Professor McGonagall would allow Draco and me to go in alone, first, for half an hour or so?"

"You can ask her when she arrives," Lupin told him. "I think she would be willing, since you have a good reason. Although she does have other work to do today, no doubt, like most of us."

"It oughtn't to take long, if it works," said Harry. "So the Headmistress is the Secret Keeper for the Order now?"

"No." Lupin smiled. "But she'll be bringing a note from the person who is – you remember how Dumbledore managed it, don't you?"

Harry nodded.

Professor McGonagall arrived only a few minutes later. She had left off her distinctive hat, but had not quite managed a completely Muggle appearance. Still, no one in this street was likely to notice or care.

When Harry explained his request, she looked at him skeptically. "Do you really believe that you and Mr. Malfoy can deceive the portrait, Mr. Potter? What if there is no way to get it down?"

"Then we're no worse off. We fooled Kreacher a few days ago, I think we can manage, and it would be helpful if we do," Harry urged her. Beside him, Draco nodded agreement.

"All right." She handed him a folded piece of parchment. "You two read this and go in. Thirty minutes at the most, mind."

"Yes, Professor." He thought he saw her lips quirk in an almost-smile.

Standing between numbers eleven and thirteen, Harry unfolded the parchment and together they read the words scrawled in an unfamiliar hand.

_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix are at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

Almost exactly the same words that Dumbledore had used. Harry thrust away the thought as number twelve sprang into view, its black-painted door just as battered and grimy as he remembered it. No keyhole or doorknob, either. He took out his wand and tapped on the door, saying, "_Alohamora_." He took a deep breath and looked at Draco as the door opened a couple of inches. "Ready? You'd better go in first. And take my wand."

Draco held both their wands loosely in his left hand and raised his right to push the door open. "Look defeated," he hissed to Harry as he stepped inside.

The ragged velvet curtains were, for a wonder, drawn over Mrs. Black's portrait. Harry pointed at it, then assumed the most dejected and unhappy expression he could manage.

"If you haven't been telling me the truth, Potter, I'll..." Draco said in a threatening tone as he pulled the draperies aside. "Well, I'm astonished, you have. Good morning, aunt." He bowed slightly.

The painted image peered out at him, her mouth pursed in her unlovely yellowing face. "Who are you?"

"I'm Narcissa's boy, aunt Black. Draco Malfoy. I made _him_," he jerked the thumb of the hand holding the two wands over his shoulder at Harry, "bring me here. Aunt Bellatrix was unable to come. _He_ said that there were a lot of ... useful... things in the Black house."

"Oh, there are indeed," Mrs. Black cackled, then frowned. "If those blood traitors haven't stolen them all, the filth."

She looked about to launch into one of the streams of vituperation that Harry had heard so often two summers ago, but Draco cut her off smoothly.

"I hope not. Since I've made it clear that his future depends on him telling me where they are and me finding them." Draco grinned a vulpine grin, turning it toward Harry as well, but with the eye that was on the opposite side from the portrait, winked. "Haven't I?"

Harry slumped, saying, "Yes," glumly. "But I don't know where everything is, now. Honestly!" He yelped the last word when Draco lifted his wand. "Please, I'm telling the truth."

"You see how it is," Draco said in confidential tones to the portrait. "Not even bright enough to lie. But _you_ must know where everything is, or should be, aunt."

"Of course," she said. "I can tell you of things, oh, such things, nearly every bauble in this house has some useful power."

"Can you show me?" Draco sounded eager, even greedy. "If I carry you around?" He made as if to lift the painting down from its hook, but it did not move.

"Oh, I'm spelled to stay on the wall here in the entryway where I can keep an eye on things. Only a true Black who knows the proper counterspell can take me down," said Mrs. Black smugly.

Harry saw Draco's fist clench for an instant. Then Draco said, "Won't you tell me? I could take you around to see what those scum have done to your house, find out what they've stolen, so I can restore everything the way it ought to be. You needn't worry about _him_, you know, I'll Obliviate him as soon as it's clear he has nothing more of use to contribute."

Mrs. Black looked undecided, and Draco added persuasively, "I'll have Kreacher come and clean you, too, but he won't be able to do a proper job if he can't get right round to the back of the frame."

He stepped closer to the portrait, which seemed to be whispering in his ear. Harry could not make out the words, but Draco nodded as Mrs. Black spoke. Then Draco stretched up with his wand to tap the four corners of the frame, saying, "_Nigellus nigellum advocat_!"

The portrait dropped, and Draco barely caught it in time to ease it to the floor. "Potter. Pick this up and carry her to one of the bedrooms. I haven't the time to go over the whole house right now, aunt," he said. "You'll have to wait a bit, but at least you can have a different view in the meantime."

Harry managed to keep his mouth shut and his face blank as he hauled the portrait upstairs, ignoring Mrs. Black's taunts. He leaned the painting against a wall in the first room he came to, face-in, despite her shrieked protests, and closed the door firmly so that she would hear the click of the latch and know there was no point to continuing her yelling. Without being hung on the wall, he hoped, she should be unable to leave her own frame.

Returning downstairs, he threw his arms around Draco. "That was _brilliant_."

Draco put his own arms around Harry's waist. "It was, rather. What did you do with my delightful great-aunt?"

"I stowed her in one of the bedrooms. If we think it'll be useful somehow to keep up the deception, we can, you just have to blame me for putting her to face the wall. Personally I'd as soon tie the painting to one of the Weasleys' Whiz-Bangs and watch it incinerate midair, but..." he shrugged, pulling Draco closer. "I'll let the Order decide, they had to put up with her the longest. No rush though. Speaking of the Order, it must be nearly half an hour, and Professor McGonagall will doubtless have a few choice words about dilatoriness if we don't let them know it's safe to come in now."

Lupin was especially congratulatory to Harry for having gotten rid of the portrait, and Harry had to repeat several times that it was not just mostly Draco's doing, it was also his idea to begin with, before Lupin thanked the Slytherin too.

"Well, now," said Professor McGonagall, "Miss Granger, you were telling me that you wanted to try a tracing spell before attempting to Transfigure Mr. Malfoy's Mark?"

"Not a tracing spell exactly," said Hermione, leading them all toward the dining room. "I'm hoping to use the Mark to pick up Voldemort's magical resonance, so that Harry can locate anything else he might have touched – and perhaps booby-trapped."

"Oh, that's the spell you were asking about, isn't it Ron?" Tonks pulled out a chair and nearly rammed it into Draco's knees. Draco rolled his eyes at Harry and went around to sit on the other side of the table, where Harry followed him.

"Yeah," said Ron, "Hermione got Professor Flitwick to teach it to her last night. Try it, Hermione."

Hermione said, "I'll need to sit next to you, Draco. On your left side." She raised her eyebrows and Harry stood up to move to Draco's right instead.

She set what looked like a large glass ashtray on the table, explaining, "This is to capture the resonance, if I can sense it." Taking Draco's left arm, she pulled up his sleeve and exposed the Dark Mark. She held her wand over the skull and snake, her eyes closed. The wand seemed to quiver in her hand.

"No," she said at last. "I get a little bit, but it just isn't clear. It's like trying to read a piece of parchment that's been left out in the rain and the ink has run." She looked at the three adults. "There's nothing of Voldemort's at Hogwarts or the Ministry that you know of, is there?"

All three were shaking their heads when Harry remembered something.

"Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore had a ring with set a cracked black stone. He told me it had belonged to the Gaunt family, and then to Tom Riddle. Is it still around? Could Hermione try the spell on that, perhaps?"

Lips pursed, Professor McGonagall nodded. "I seem to recall seeing such a ring among Professor Dumbledore's effects."

"Could we get it today?" Harry pressed.

"So impatient, Mr. Potter?" The Headmistress's gaze was cool.

"Yes. Why not? I could summon Dobby and have him bring it – I wouldn't trust Kreacher," said Harry.

"Dobby cannot come here," Lupin pointed out. "Not with the Fidelius charm in place. Although I agree that Kreacher would be unreliable."

"I could go outside, down the street somewhere." The sooner Hermione could work the spell to capture Voldemort's magical resonance, the sooner Harry would have a better chance of finding a Horcrux. Perhaps he would go back to the Riddle house for one more effort there. But he would not explain all this to the three adults. The search for the Horcruxes was his burden, placed on him by Dumbledore.

"I could go to Hogwarts to fetch it," offered Tonks. "They don't expect me back at Headquarters until after noon."

Harry saw Professor McGonagall close her eyes briefly. "Thank you, Tonks, but I will go myself. Much simpler than trying to tell you all the places it might be. But I would prefer to wait until after this Transfiguration attempt. Miss Granger, were you going to do the honors?"

"It was Harry and Draco who came up with the spell," said Hermione. "Harry should be the one to try, if he wants."

"No, you've always been much better at Transfiguration, you should do it," said Harry. Next to him, Draco relaxed slightly. Harry felt a prickle of resentment that Draco trusted Hermione more than him for this, although he would doubtless have felt the same in Draco's place.

He reached across Draco to show Hermione how his left hand bore a threadlike letter P. "We used the spell _Permutatio_ – remember that dot on the back of my hand? Draco changed it to this."

Hermione prodded his skin thoughtfully. "Professor? Do you think it will work?"

"I'm inclined to doubt it," said Professor McGonagall. "But I have been wrong in the past; you may as well try."

"Did you use your wand?" Hermione asked Draco, who nodded. She held hers over the Mark once again, saying, "_Permutatio_."

"Oh, _fuck_," cried Draco, grabbing Harry's arm with his other hand. "Merlin, that hurt. Sorry, Professor McGonagall."

Hermione peered down at the Mark, disappointed. "Nothing really changed, except... I think perhaps the snake's tongue was crooked the other way?"

Now Harry bent over to look. "I think you're right. Maybe. Draco?"

Draco swallowed, blinking rapidly. "Er... I'm not sure," he admitted. "I tried not to look at it very much."

"I'll try again," said Hermione briskly. "Now, pay attention this time so we can be sure if it changes. _Permutatio_."

A thin moan came from Draco's throat, and he squeezed Harry's arm as if it were a broom handle and he a first-year hanging on for dear life. But this time Harry was almost sure that there had been a tiny change.

"Look, there's a bit missing from the skull's nose," he said, looking to see if anything else was different.

"Well done, Miss Granger. Well done. Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter, you seem to have found a spell that will work, even if only marginally. Congratulations," Professor McGonagall's voice cut through Harry's examination.

"Perhaps working on a color change would help," said Hermione. "I was thinking that if the Mark could be altered from black to match Draco's skin, that would effectively remove it."

"No, it would still be there, only invisible," argued Lupin, and he, the Headmistress, and Hermione drifted into a discussion hinging on the technical aspects of this type of partial Transfiguration, Tonks listening but rarely speaking.

Ron, across the table, rolled his eyes and walked around to sit on Harry's other side. Draco let go of Harry's arm then, and Harry found himself wishing once more that Ron had not come along today.

"They'll be talking for ages," said Ron.

"Better that than Hermione trying the Transfiguration again," shuddered Draco. "I've never hurt so much."

"Not even when your arm was scratched by Buckbeak?" Harry could not resist.

Draco's look indicated clearly that he would ensure Harry paid for that remark later, but he only said, "This was much worse. If that's how much it hurts for such a small change, I think I'd almost prefer to keep the Mark. My heart will stop if we do too much of that, I'm serious."

"But at least it doesn't appear to have brought any Death Eaters down on top of us," Harry pointed out.

"Unless they're out in the street, waiting for you but thwarted by the Unplottable and Fidelius charms," said Ron cheerfully.

"Thanks, Weasley." Draco used his most sarcastic tones.

There was an uncomfortable silence among the three of them until Harry heard Hermione say to Lupin, "It looks possible, at any rate, so that's better than we might have expected."

"Headmistress," Harry broke in, "could you _please_ bring that ring today? I don't think Draco can cope with another trial on the Mark right now, and I'd like to work on this other spell anyhow."

"Very well, Mr. Potter. Remus, can you stay here until this afternoon?"

Lupin nodded.

"I can bring everyone some lunch before I have to go," said Tonks.

"Fine. If the ring is where I remember it, I should be back within an hour," said Professor McGonagall. She rose and, nodding farewell, went out.


	26. At Twelve Grimmauld Place

**26. At Twelve Grimmauld Place**

When Harry appeared in the doorway of Draco's borrowed room and promised, "We'll be together tomorrow night," Draco felt a rush of pleasure that was only partly to do with the closeness of Harry's embrace. He knew that Harry would disappear back upstairs at any moment, and he understood why, though he wished it could be otherwise. No, his happiness came from the fact that Harry seemed to be looking forward to tomorrow as much as Draco himself.

Holding onto that thought let Draco remind Harry casually, "And I'll owe you a present." He could scarcely keep from grinning like a fool as Harry gave him a quick kiss and slipped out.

Remus Lupin looked even shabbier than he had done at Hogwarts when he walked into the Weasleys' at breakfast the next morning. Draco found his female companion more worthy of attention: so this was cousin Nymphadora. He had heard a few bits and pieces about her over the years, mostly from his mother bemoaning her sister Andromeda's so-unfortunate marriage to the Muggle-born Ted Tonks. Evidently his cousin _preferred_ to use her father's surname over her own first name. Draco could understand the importance of a name, of course; he would not be a Malfoy if he did not. But it baffled him that anyone would choose to use a _Muggle_ family name in preference to a wizarding one.

It was not she, though, who transported him to the Black house via Side-Along Apparition, but Lupin. Draco wondered briefly if the man was hoping to see him splinched. It was, after all, Draco who had been largely responsible for Lupin's exposure as a werewolf and consequent dismissal as a Hogwarts professor. Nothing untoward happened, however. Indeed it was one of the smoothest trips Draco could remember, better than most of his own solo Apparitions.

When Professor McGonagall arrived, Harry convinced her to let himself and Draco try Draco's scheme to get the portrait of Mrs. Black down from the wall in the front hallway. Draco quite enjoyed fooling the old witch into giving up her secret. He flattered her outrageously, hinted that he was there on behalf of Bellatrix Lestrange, and insulted Harry and the members of the Order several times. Insulting Harry in his presence was the most difficult part, a far cry from how Draco had once acted, but Harry played along well, practically cringing when Draco looked at him. It did not take long before he learned how to detach the portrait. The spell had to be said by a member of the Black family in any case and so Tonks might have managed it, though since she was unacknowledged by her pureblood relatives even she might not have qualified. Continuing the deception, Draco ordered Harry to carry the portrait upstairs, and waited smugly until the other boy came back.

"That was _brilliant_," Harry said, hugging him.

Draco considered that a very promising sign. And with the annoying portrait taken care of, perhaps Harry would be more comfortable staying in the house tonight. He returned the embrace. "It was rather, wasn't it?"

He would have liked to carry on from there instead of waiting for the evening, but McGonagall had only been willing to wait thirty minutes for them, and the time was up. Soon would come the moment that Draco was dreading, Hermione's attempt to alter or remove the Mark, as soon as she had tried to glean Voldemort's magical signature from it.

It turned out that the Dark Mark did not retain enough of Voldemort's resonance for Hermione to be able to detect it clearly. Draco was mostly relieved. It would have been disconcerting to think there was that much of the Dark Lord with him wherever he went. Harry, luckily for his own hopes, recalled that Dumbledore had had a ring that had once belonged to Voldemort and which might be more useful, and he talked the Headmistress into bringing it back later that day for Hermione to try her tracing spell on. Draco noticed that both Harry and Hermione, and even Ron, avoided mentioning that the purpose of all this was to find Voldemort's Horcruxes, so he kept his own tongue equally still on the matter.

All the discussion only delayed the inevitable. When Hermione finally cast the _Permutatio_ spell, the pain that flared through Draco's arm made Voldemort's summons feel like the gentlest of motherly kisses. Had he been standing, he would have collapsed; as it was, he grabbed at Harry with his other hand and hung on for dear life.

"Oh, _fuck_, that hurt," Draco ground out through teeth clenched so hard he thought they would splinter in his mouth, before remembering McGonagall's presence and apologizing for his language.

Hermione thought she had seen a small change, and was determined to try again. It hurt even more the second time, but Draco was braced for it and managed to clamp down on the shriek that wanted to escape from his throat. He could not seem to unclench his fingers from Harry's arm, though. At least Harry did not object to that.

The three adults began a technical discussion of Transfiguration with Hermione, and Ron drifted around the table to where Harry and Draco sat. Then Draco managed to let go of his death grip on Harry. Hermione might believe that Ron would not notice anything going on between Harry and Draco, but Draco was unwilling to risk it... certainly not while Harry was still so hard to pin down when it came to establishing any kind of seriousness in their relationship, and might use any excuse to duck and run.

"At least the Transfiguration attempt doesn't seem to have alerted any Death Eaters," said Harry.

"That's small comfort," said Draco. "I'd almost prefer to keep the Mark rather than go through that much pain again, who knows how many times? I thought my heart would stop."

He hated admitting to such weakness, but better that than to really _have_ it stop. He most certainly did not want to die, not yet.

"Of course, the Death Eaters could be outside the house, just thwarted by the Fidelius and unable to find it," pointed out Ron with obnoxious cheerfulness.

Draco glared at him. "Thanks for the positive outlook, Weasley."

That quenched Ron for the time being, until the Transfiguration discussion broke up and Tonks started asking everyone what kinds of sandwiches they would like for lunch. She and Lupin would stay until McGonagall returned with the ring Harry had asked about.

"Egg and cress on brown bread," Draco told his cousin. "Or prawn, please."

He was silent over his meal, which Tonks brought back from a nearby shop. Harry and Lupin were talking about Sirius Black, and Tonks was telling Ron and Hermione about Auror training. Hermione eventually seemed to notice that Draco had said nothing, for when she finished eating she came around to sit in the empty chair next to him.

"Does your arm still hurt?" Her expression was worried.

"Yes," admitted Draco, "but it's not as bad as it was, not nearly. More like a really terrible itch."

"I didn't realize it would be so painful. I'm sorry," she said. "Unfortunately it looks like it will take a lot of attempts to even alter the Mark appreciably, let alone get rid of it, not unless one of us can think up a completely different and more successful approach."

"Yes, well, my bad luck, isn't it?" said Draco, unable to keep all the bitterness out of his voice.

Hermione looked at him, her head tilted slightly to one side in what he decided was her thinking position. "Is it luck? I don't know."

Draco could not guess what she meant by that, but had no chance to ask, as Ron interrupted and asked for Hermione's opinion on Tonks's appearance.

Her appearance? Draco looked over and was astonished to see that the pink hair and rather pretty face of his cousin had vanished, replaced by a wrinkled, warty visage topped with flyaway grey hair.

"Classic," said Hermione. "What every Muggle expects a witch to look like. Although perhaps not with those clothes, mind you."

Tonks noticed Draco's confusion and explained, "I'm a Metamorphmagus."

"I see," said Draco. A highly useful ability for an Auror, that. He wondered if his parents knew about their niece's talent. Probably not, or his father at least would have made an effort to keep her from being cast out of the family; Voldemort would doubtless appreciate having such a person working for him. Draco found he was glad for Tonks that she had managed to escape such pressures.

They had all finished eating by the time Professor McGonagall returned.

"I must say it's a relief not to have to tiptoe past that portrait in the front hall," she said in dryly approving tones as she entered the room. "Mr. Potter, I believe this is the ring you meant?"

Draco watched as Harry stretched out his hand to take it.

"Yes, this is the one. Professor Dumbledore wore it quite a bit last year, but he said that Voldemort had had it for a long time. Hermione, what do you think, can you try your spell on this?"

"There's a better chance this will work than there was with the Mark, certainly," said Hermione, pulling her glass bowl closer and taking out her wand. Harry passed the ring to Draco, who set it down on the table in front of Hermione.

Hermione held her wand over the ring, her eyes closed. She spoke no words aloud, but as before, the wand appeared to vibrate. This time, though, a green light shone dimly around the ring. Hermione moved the wand over to the glass bowl, and the light followed like streamers of mist, settling slowly into the hollow of the bowl and flickering there.

"I think that's done it," she half-whispered when she had opened her eyes again. "We should check to make sure I didn't pick up Professor Dumbledore's resonance instead by accident, of course."

"There are a few things of his here," said Lupin, getting up.

He returned after a few minutes with a teacup that he said Dumbledore had brought to a meeting once and often used thereafter. Hermione placed it into the bowl and said, "_Confero_."

Nothing happened. Hermione looked pleased. "Good. If the resonances matched, it would have glowed. That means it ought to be Voldemort's that I've caught."

"Well done, Miss Granger," approved McGonagall.

"What if the thing I want to check is too big for the bowl?" asked Harry.

"Hold the open side of the bowl against whatever you're testing instead. Go ahead, try it." Hermione removed the teacup and slid the bowl toward him.

Harry reached across Draco to pick it up. He turned the bowl upside down on the table and held out his wand. "_Confero_," he said, then shrugged. "How do I know if it worked?"

"Could you feel a kind of a pulse?" Hermione asked.

"I think so."

"Good, you should have; that shows the spell was operating. I'm sorry the bowl's a bit heavy, it was the best thing that Ron's mum could find last night when I asked."

"It'll be fine," said Harry, "as long as it doesn't break. But I'll be careful, don't worry."

"Now that's done, I'd better be getting back to work," said Tonks, who had watched the procedure with interest.

"We should all go," agreed Lupin. "We can return here another time, once you've had a chance to work on the Transfiguration spell some more, perhaps improve it so it makes a greater change at once. I doubt it's been altered enough yet to be sure that a spell would not alert the Death Eaters... and I assume, Draco, that you would prefer to have it gone altogether in any case?"

"I would," Draco said, pushing his chair back as did everyone else except Harry.

Harry said, "I'm not leaving. I'm going to stay here tonight. Draco, you'll stay with me?"

Draco hitched his chair closer again and nodded, even as the adults began to expostulate that Harry could not, should not, stay in the Black house alone. Ron added his voice to their objections, telling Harry how disappointed his family would be if Harry did not come back for a birthday supper that night.

"It's my house," said Harry in the same quietly determined voice. "Sirius left it to me. I want to be here. And Ron, please say I'm sorry, I'll come for dinner tomorrow instead. But now that I'm here, I want to stop here for now."

Lupin stared at Harry with an odd expression on his face. "All right, Harry. If that's what you want, I can't prevent you."

Professor McGonagall turned a look of great annoyance on Lupin, but said, "I suppose he _is_ of age. Very well." She snapped her mouth closed, picked up Dumbledore's ring, and stalked out. After a moment Tonks shrugged and followed, with Lupin behind her.

"You've gone completely mental, Harry," Ron told him. "You _want_ to stay here?"

"I'm going to stop here tonight," Harry repeated.

"Oh, leave it, Ron," said Hermione tiredly. "Let's go home." She took Ron's elbow and guided him out of the room. Draco heard Ron continuing to protest until the front door closed behind them.

He looked at Harry. "Well."

"Well." Harry's clear green eyes gazed back at him. "D'you want me to show you around the place a bit?"

"Might as well." Draco followed Harry out of the room.

"Two summers ago I helped to get rid of a lot of the Dark Magic stuff that was here, and I expect various members of the Order have dealt with the rest since then, but there were some things too that weren't necessarily Dark, despite what Mrs. Black said," Harry explained as they wandered through the house. "Although I know Mundungus Fletcher – he's a member of the Order, but also a thief if not worse – walked off with at least a few of them before he was found out. Sold them, I expect."

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"Not really. Technically it's all mine, Sirius left me the house and everything in it, but it's not like they're my own things that I'd care about losing. Even Sirius didn't want most of it, and you'd think it'd have had some meaning for him. But he threw out great masses of stuff. What seemed innocuous went back into the cabinets and cupboards."

They were in a gloomy green drawing room on the first floor now, and Harry waved his hand vaguely at a pair of cabinets flanking the fireplace. Draco strolled toward them and peered through the glass fronts.

"So nothing here is dangerous?"

"Not that anyone could determine." Harry came over and stood close beside Draco. "I mean, obviously these daggers could be dangerous in an ordinary way, but they're not magically charmed so that anyone cut by them will bleed to death, or anything of that sort."

"What about that locket?" Draco pointed at a gold chain which bore a heavy pendant engraved with a strange pattern. Scales, Draco thought, or perhaps flames.

"It wouldn't open, but Mrs. Weasley and Sirius both checked it for hexes." Harry paused. "Wait a minute. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Their eyes met and lit in wild surmise. Locket. Regulus Black had stolen Voldemort's locket Horcrux. And here was a locket in the Black house.

"I'll get Hermione's glass bowl," Draco offered, and dashed downstairs. Harry had not moved an inch when he returned.

"Oh, this is too much. It can't be."

"Put it in the bowl," said Draco impatiently.

As if in a trance, Harry opened the cabinet and did so, raising his wand. "_Confero_."

Bright green light flashed, nearly blinding Draco for a second. He blinked hard to clear his vision. Harry was standing still, awed.

"It _has_ to be the Horcrux, with a response like that."

"No, it doesn't," said Draco logically, but when Harry turned a ferocious glare on him, he relented. "Although you're right, it probably is... the question is whether there's a specific test to tell for sure. And then if it _is_, how do we destroy it? That's the plan, right?"

Harry nodded, staring at the locket. "I don't know how it can be destroyed."

"Didn't you destroy one of them once before?"

"Yes, but I didn't know that's what I was doing – and a book is a lot easier to damage than metal or stone. When Professor Dumbledore destroyed the Gaunt ring as a Horcrux, it injured him terribly. You must have noticed his hand last year."

Draco had not, but he did not say so to Harry. "Well, what did you do to the book?"

"Stabbed it with a basilisk fang. Which wouldn't work on this anyhow." Harry frowned. "I suppose it doesn't matter if we know whether the locket is a Horcrux or not, as long as we can destroy it physically, as I did with the diary."

"Yes, but if we don't know, then we won't know for sure how many are left," Draco pointed out.

"Oh. Yeah. That was stupid of me."

"Just a bit Gryffindor-ish. Leaping ahead to try to solve the problem quickly without thinking through everything, you know." It was rather endearing in a way, if also frustrating. "Do you want to try to contact Hermione now and see if this test of hers can indicate a Horcrux specifically, not just anything handled by..."

"By Voldemort?" Harry finished. "I don't have Hedwig to take a message for me, is the problem, and after insisting that I was going to stay here tonight with you, I don't fancy going back to the Burrow after all... Mrs. Weasley's bound to be upset that I didn't want to go back there, and when she's upset, everyone in the vicinity knows it."

He looked unhappy. Draco took a deep breath and said, "But you'd really like to know for sure if this locket is a Horcrux, today. Not tomorrow or next week. How about this – _you_ go to the Weasleys' and ask Hermione about it. You could even take the locket with you, and stay for dinner and all that, just come back here afterward. I won't go... I could talk to that portrait some more, maybe. See if I can learn anything useful from my late unlamented great aunt."

"Really?" Harry's expression shifted to doubtful but pleased. "That would be awfully good of you. I _do_ want to find out if it's a Horcrux."

"Only be sure to come back tonight, that's all." Draco managed a smile, already half-regretting the offer. Harry wouldn't let himself be convinced to stay at the Burrow... he hoped.

"No fear," said Harry, smiling. "You keep promising me a birthday present... d'you think I won't be sure to collect that?"

Draco felt his mouth relax into a real, answering grin. "I guess not. Is there anything else I should see before you go?"

"Not really. I doubt there's any beds made up to sleep in though, since the Order hasn't been using the house much lately. Do you mind doing that?"

"I can manage." It couldn't be _that_ hard to make a bed. A shiver of anticipation went though him, thinking about sharing a bed with Harry that was not a narrow mattress in a room with strangers just a wall away, or a sleeping bag on a rocky cave floor. "And I still have a little Muggle money, so I can go out and fetch something in for my dinner."

"Thanks, Draco. I really appreciate your being willing to let me go do this," said Harry. He moved his hand as if he were going to shake Draco's, then pulled it back awkwardly.

"It's okay, Harry." Draco reached out and put his arms around the other boy. He kissed Harry, biting gently at his lower lip, and Harry's mouth opened to his.

"I will _definitely_ be back for that present," said Harry in a husky voice when they broke from the kiss. "But I'd better go. Sooner I do, sooner I can be back. See you later." He snatched up the locket, stepped away, and Disapparated with a loud crack.

Just that one kiss had left Draco longing for more, _now_. His hand moved almost without volition to stroke the hard bulge of his cock under the heavy denim fabric. It was amazing how much Harry turned him on. Now was not the time to indulge himself though. He wanted to take a better look around the house, decide which bedroom to use – he grinned to himself – and deal with old Mrs. Black. She really was a hag in that portrait; rather surprising, since she could not have been that old, and the Blacks were very good-looking on the whole. Draco's mother was ample proof of that.

Which room had Harry said he had left the portrait in? Draco walked along the first-floor hallway, opening doors quietly. He did not want to talk to his great-aunt's picture quite yet, only to know where she was so as not to disturb her by accident. Ah... the closest bedroom to the front stairs. Understandable. He closed the door again.

Now to pick a bedroom for the night. Harry had been correct, none of them were ready for use. A simple spell or two would clear out the worst of the dust, however, and after searching for clean sheets that would fit the large bed in the room he finally chose, Draco managed with a certain amount of effort to get them on properly.

It was late afternoon, now, and Draco considered whether he should go out to get something to eat first, or talk to the portrait. It could be awkward if he were still doing the latter when Harry returned. With a sigh, he drew himself up and entered that room.

"Good evening, aunt," he said as he turned the portrait around.

"Oh, it's you," she said ungraciously, peering out of her florid frame.

"I do apologize for making you wait, but there are other matters pressing on my attention today. I have time to take you through at least one of the rooms, though, if you wish. I've sent the boy," Draco barely kept from calling Harry by name, "on an errand to keep him out of the way. Obliviation and Memory Charms are all very well, but they can be broken."

"And how do you know he'll return from this errand?" she asked.

Draco gave her a cold smile. "Oh, he will return. He has no choice."

"Ah, an Imperius," cackled the old lady. "So you can cast it effectively? You are truly Black at heart."

"I'm sure you're right," said Draco. He pushed up his sleeves and pulled out his wand to cast a Levitation Charm on the heavy painting, which then floated before him obediently.

"And you've taken the Mark, I see, like my own dear son Regulus. Good. Good. We purebloods need to stick together. Can't trust these newcomers. Traitors, the lot of them. Don't know the good old wizarding ways." She paused in her tirade to order him to take her into the same drawing room he and Harry had examined earlier.

He guessed that she would be furious over anything that was missing, and so she was.

"Those thieving..." sputtered Mrs. Black incoherently. "Unworthy of the name of wizard!"

"Now, now, aunt," said Draco. "Just look around carefully and try to recall what's missing. Some things may have been destroyed, but it's rumored that some have been sold, and if I know what they are and what they can do, I can try to trace them and get them back."

"The tapestry is still here, at least," she gloated. "All the loyal family, for generations."

Draco noted that his aunt Andromeda was absent from the elaborate family tree, a burn in the fabric marking where she had once been. The same was true of his cousin Sirius. He suspected that the same charm that had enabled him to take down the portrait of Sirius's mother would work on this hanging too. Harry might appreciate that.

"There I am," he said, laying a fingertip against his own name.

"Indeed. You may bear the name of a Malfoy, boy, but never forget that the blood of the Blacks runs in your veins as well, and this house will someday be rightfully yours as heir to your aunt and mother." The pride in her voice made it harsh.

Rightfully his only if Sirius had been disinherited, Draco thought, which evidently had not been the case. He wondered why. Perhaps Sirius's father had restrained his wife? Not that it mattered, Draco did not want to be the heir. The Malfoy estates were more than enough for him; Harry was welcome to this gloomy house.

"Let me get something to write with," said Draco. He spotted an escritoire in one corner and was pleased to find it stocked with parchment, quill, and ink. "Now, what do you know is missing?"

She dictated a lengthy list, including descriptions, the use of each item, and sometimes stories of their provenance as well. Draco's hand ached by the time he had finished.

"That will have to be all for today," he said, floating her along the hallway and back to the same bedroom again. "I'm going to keep you here for safety, just in case that half-blood's friends come after him. I don't expect it but it's possible, and I'd hate to lose you, aunt." Draco smiled charmingly at her as he canceled the spell and set the portrait down, leaning it against the bed.

When the door was shut behind him, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Harry would want to look over that list; it might at least help him determine what Mundungus Fletcher had stolen, which could be useful even if he didn't care about getting it all back. Draco checked the time. Well after seven o'clock. He had better have something to eat, as Harry _might_ be back soon. He hoped the Weasleys wouldn't keep him too long.

There was a chip shop in the next street, and despite its dubious appearance Draco decided convenience outweighed other potential shortcomings for the moment. The fish was better than he expected, actually, quite fresh, although the chips were on the underdone side. He prowled through the rest of the house after eating. Dank and dusty for the most part. A few well-trained house-elves would work wonders, if Harry had the sense to use them. Perhaps not Kreacher, but maybe Dobby. Although, Draco considered, if he were staying here, and Harry brought Dobby in... he might have to maintain his charade of subservience to Harry all the time, and he was not keen on that idea. Not to mention that it could get complicated if he was pretending the opposite to fool Mrs. Black.

He had found the library and was poking about in the dusty mildewed leather-bound volumes when he heard the slam of the front door.

"Draco?" Harry's voice sounded strained.

"In here." Draco put down a copy of _Moste Potente Potions_ and went out to meet Harry. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Here, I brought our things," and Harry thrust Draco's rucksack into his hands. "I completely forgot those this morning. Good thing I went back."

As Draco looked at him skeptically, Harry said, "What? Ron was pushing me to stay, that's all. We had a bit of a row. Don't worry about it."

Draco didn't intend to, although he was nettled by Ron's attempt to keep Harry at the Burrow when Draco was at Grimmauld Place. Not that he thought Ron had any idea yet of what was going on between Harry and Draco. It was just another instance of Weasley prejudice.

He rummaged in the bag. "Ah ha – I thought so," he said, and triumphantly pulled out the last bottle of wine remaining from their night in the cave. "Fancy a drink?"

"I'll tell you what I fancy," said Harry, taking the bottle out of Draco's hands and setting it aside, then winding his arms around Draco's waist. "I fancy having that present from you that you keep teasing me about."

"You'll get it, no fear," Draco promised with a swift kiss. "But let's take all this upstairs and have a celebratory birthday drink first." He didn't want Harry to be drunk, but a little relaxation would not hurt.


	27. Downstairs, Upstairs

**27. Downstairs, Upstairs**

Hearing Draco say that he thought his heart might stop if Hermione kept trying to alter the Mark worried Harry, and he meant to talk to Draco about it while they ate lunch. But in the fuss of sorting out the sandwiches Tonks brought back, Harry had ended up sitting next to Remus Lupin, discussing Sirius, and he could think of no polite way to disentangle himself from conversation with his late godfather's best friend.

"He would have been proud that you managed to get that portrait down," said Lupin. "I know, I know, you told me Draco was the one who cast the spell, but nonetheless."

"I expect he would have appreciated getting it out of the hall, whoever did it. I know Sirius hated this house and everything in it, his mother's portrait especially," Harry said.

"Very much." Lupin sighed and his eyes went soft, staring through Harry as if seeing a remembered Sirius across the room. "It's a shame he never had much of a chance after Azkaban to enjoy life again. Ironic, that. Wormtail, Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs... two of us dead, one turned traitor. Who would have ever thought that it would be the werewolf who'd still be around after all these years? A bit battered, but alive and mostly well. I feel guilty sometimes, thinking that it should really have been James or Sirius that made it through... but I ought not to be telling you this." He peered anxiously at Harry.

"It's all right, Remus," said Harry. "I expect I'd feel the same if Ron were killed. Like it was my fault, or if not that, then just guilty that I was still alive, enjoying life even, when he wasn't."

"Yes. Although you mustn't think that Sirius would have done anything but what he did, even if he had known what would happen. He was so unhappy, trapped here, I'm certain going to rescue you was the best thing he'd done in ages," Lupin said. "I'm not saying that he _wanted_ to die, but if he had to, I'm sure that dying to help his godson, the only child of James and Lily – that's what he would have wanted."

"I suppose," Harry agreed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione go over to Draco, who had been eating alone, and he relaxed a little, listening to Lupin talk more about Sirius until Professor McGonagall reappeared.

She had brought the ring with its cracked black stone, and this time Hermione's attempt to capture Voldemort's magical resonance worked. Lupin suggested that with that success, there was no reason to stay any longer in Grimmauld Place.

"I'm not leaving," Harry stated it as a simple fact. "I'm going to stay here tonight. Draco, you'll stay too?"

Draco sat silent as a sphinx next to Harry as everyone except Hermione tried to argue him out of his decision. The only one who came near to having a chance at success was Ron. Harry did feel badly about not going back to the Burrow for the birthday cake Mrs. Weasley had said she would make him, but he had promised Draco first. Just because he had forgotten to tell her was no reason to break that promise. Besides, there was that present Draco kept teasing him about... a present that he was persuaded he could not receive at the Weasley house. Eventually, faced with Harry's intransigence, Professor McGonagall threw up her hands and stalked out, the rest following.

"Well," said Draco, looking at Harry, his expression as relieved as Harry himself felt.

"Yeah... d'you want to see the rest of the place now?"

They wandered around through most of the house, at length ending up in the first-floor drawing room that Harry had helped to clear out two summers before. Draco seemed especially interested by what was left in the cabinets, though Harry assured him that both Sirius and Mrs. Weasley had checked everything over and nothing remaining had any curses or hexes on it.

"What about that locket?" Draco pointed at the ugly gold necklace.

The locket... something clicked in Harry's mind. Draco thought Regulus Black was R.A.B. R.A.B. had taken the locket Horcrux from the cave. And here was a locket in the Black House, where Regulus could well have left it. "Do you think...?"

Draco brought the glass bowl that Hermione had used to capture Voldemort's resonance. When Harry tested the locket, green light flashed blindingly.

"It _has_ to be the Horcrux," Harry whispered, and was irrationally annoyed when Draco pointed out that it could simply be an object that Voldemort had owned or handled at some point, thereby imbuing it with his magical signature.

"She didn't say that it only responded to Horcruxes, it sounded like anything that a wizard had charmed would cause a reaction. Is there a more specific test, I wonder? And if this _is_ the Horcrux, then how do we destroy it? How did you destroy the other one you said you'd found?"

"Used a basilisk fang to stab the book," said Harry, his mind roiling with possibilities, most of which he discarded immediately. "But gold's a different proposition from paper. When Professor Dumbledore ruined the ring as a Horcrux, it injured him terribly. I'd rather not have that happen to me, thanks."

"Perhaps you should try to contact Hermione and see if her test can be used to identify a Horcrux, not just anything..." Draco paused.

"Handled by Voldemort? Right, but the problem is that I don't have Hedwig here to take a message." Harry frowned. "I could go myself, but after saying I was going to stay here tonight with you, it'd be more than a little awkward for us to turn up at the Burrow after all. Mrs. Weasley's bound to have been upset, and she doesn't exactly hide her emotions." He winced, remembering the Howler she had sent Ron in second year.

"Well, _you_ could go for dinner, and pacify Mrs. Weasley, and I could stay here," Draco offered. "You should take the locket. Then if Hermione can help you could test it right away, not have to wait till tomorrow or next week. I won't go and be in the way, I'll stay here and maybe see if the portrait of my great-aunt has anything useful to say."

Harry caught his breath. "Would you mind? I do want to find out if it's the Horcrux."

"Just be sure to come back tonight, that's all," said Draco, looking down at the carpet.

"No fear. D'you think I wouldn't want to find out what this present is you keep promising?" Harry asked, and grinned back at the smile that spread over Draco's face. "Oh... would you mind making up a bed while I'm gone? The Order hasn't used the house much lately, and I doubt any of the beds have sheets on them. Choose whatever room you like."

"I'll do that. I still have some Muggle money too, so I can buy myself some dinner," said Draco.

"Thanks for being willing to stay," Harry said. He wanted to say something more, do something to show his gratitude, but Draco preempted him, stepping closer and pulling Harry in for a rapid but thorough snog. If he hadn't been so keen to find out about the locket, Harry would have succumbed to the temptation to drag Draco down to the floor right then.

"I will _definitely_ be back for that present... but the sooner I leave, the quicker it'll be." Before he could change his mind, he picked up the locket and bowl and Apparated to the Burrow. Tucking both of them discreetly under his arm, he steeled himself and knocked at the door.

"Harry? Ron said you weren't coming back tonight." Mrs. Weasley was red-faced and sounded flustered. "Is Draco here too? Really..."

"I'm sorry," Harry broke in before she could work up to full volume. "I should've said something before I left this morning, but I really want to stay in Sirius's house tonight. It seems only proper on my birthday to think about what he and my parents did for me. But it was awfully rude of me not to have told you that, and left you expecting me, us, back here. So I thought I'd better come and apologize."

Mrs. Weasley looked somewhat mollified. "Well, thank you, Harry. When Ron told me you had stayed... I _had_ baked a birthday cake... but Draco didn't come with you?"

"No, he's going to talk to Mrs. Black's portrait. We managed to get it off the wall," Harry added proudly. "Draco's doing, mostly. And I _am_ going to back tonight, but I could stay for dinner...?" He looked at her hopefully.

"Of course you have to have dinner here. Oh, drat, the potatoes." She hurried across to the stove where a pot was boiling over in clouds of steam, continuing, "Ron and Ginny and Hermione are all around somewhere, go find them, I need to look after dinner."

Harry tried the sitting room first, but no one was there. Then he heard raised voices from Mr. Weasley's study.

"Not to interrupt," he interjected into Ron and Hermione's argument, "but..."

"What are _you_ doing here?" snapped Ron. "Thought you were planning to stay at Grimmauld Place with poncy Malfoy."

Harry tensed at that, but Hermione said, "Is there something wrong?"

"No, quite the contrary. I think – maybe – I've found a Horcrux. But I'm not sure." He pulled out the locket and held it up. "When I tested this, the bowl flashed green light, really bright. So Voldemort handled it, that's definite, but how can I tell if it's a Horcrux or not?"

Hermione screwed up her face thoughtfully. "You brought the bowl, good. Cast the spell again so I can see."

The light was just as blinding this time as last.

"It's a Horcrux," said Hermione with assurance. "An ordinary object that he'd handled would just glow a bit. The stronger the link to the wizard, the more something is imbued with his magic, the brighter the light. That locket's been in the Black house for years, only touched when Sirius was testing it for hexes – any ordinary magical signature would have faded, for one thing, and how likely is it that something of Voldemort's would simply show up there?"

"Good, that's what I hoped," said Harry. "But then the trouble is, how can I destroy it? I'd prefer not to be injured like Professor Dumbledore was... there's still several more to find and deal with, after this."

Ron seemed to have got over his temper for the moment. He reached out and picked up the locket, setting it swinging. Harry's eyes followed the back-and-forth motion as they all contemplated the problem.

"If you destroy the physical object, that'll ruin it as a Horcrux, I should think," Ron said.

"Dumbledore cracked the stone of the ring, though I don't know how, and I stabbed through the diary with the basilisk's fang," Harry agreed.

"Clearly it takes something pretty powerful to accomplish the destruction of a Horcrux," said Hermione. "I don't think just going to a jeweler's or a goldsmith's to have the locket melted down would turn the trick."

"When you destroyed the diary, you weren't really hurt, were you?" asked Ron.

Harry frowned. "No... not like Dumbledore's hand was anyhow. Although I was in pretty bad shape already, and Fawkes's tears healed me from the poison, so it's hard to say."

"But surely if phoenix tears could help, Professor Dumbledore would have known and used them himself," Hermione pointed out. "Perhaps the fact that the destruction of the diary was indirect – you didn't use your own magic, it was the basilisk poison – was what kept you from being injured like he was?"

"That would make sense, Harry," said Ron excitedly. "So then you'd need to figure out something you could use on the locket in a similar way. A Dissolving Potion, maybe? Fred and George were experimenting with some pretty strange things over the years, bought loads of weird ingredients when they could scrape together the Sickles to do it, so perhaps they'd have ideas."

"I'd rather try to work it out ourselves first. I'll ask Draco, too. If we don't have any luck then we could see what the twins might be able to suggest," said Harry. He stretched and glanced around the room, belatedly realizing, "Where's Ginny?"

"She was still sore that she wasn't allowed to go with us today, she's out flying, I think," Ron said. "But I expect she'll be back soon." He grinned at Harry. "It's almost dinnertime... I can smell it. And Mum doesn't appreciate it when anyone's late for that."

Dinner was a determinedly cheerful affair. Ginny seemed to be trying to put aside her bad mood, chattering about nothing in particular. Mrs. Weasley had evidently forgiven Harry for initially having refused to come back for his birthday meal, if the smile she gave him along with a third helping of lamb stew was anything to judge by, and Mr. Weasley had never known that Harry had intended any such thing, though he expressed dismay that Harry insisted on returning to the Black house that night.

"It worries me, you boys alone there," he said, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

"We'll be fine," Harry assured them. "There's nothing dangerous left in the house, not since the Order's been using it, and with all the protective spells there's no chance anyone could get in from outside."

Mrs. Weasley passed around slices of cake, covered in cream and absolutely delicious, but after Harry had eaten two servings he was obliged to say that he needed to go, he had promised Draco. "Neither of us took along our things this morning – I'd better fetch them now," he added to Ron.

He had left his own stuff strewn about Ron's room, he remembered, so he decided to collect Draco's first. The only things not packed neatly in the rucksack were the green t-shirt that Draco slept in, and his toothbrush. Harry caught a whiff of the scent that was distinctly _Draco_ as he folded the shirt, but Ron was watching and he felt too embarrassed to raise it to his face as he would have rather liked to do. Carrying Draco's rucksack, he went up to Ron's room to gather his own things.

"Do you have to go right now?" asked Ron abruptly as Harry was shoving pants and socks into his bag. "I mean, we could have a game of wizarding chess or something, hang about with Hermione and Ginny."

"I did say I wouldn't be too late," said Harry, fastening the flap of the rucksack and looking around to see that he hadn't missed anything out. "So not tonight, Ron. Another time."

"Look, you're my best mate, help me out here. If you're not around the girls stick together, I can hardly get Hermione on her own. It'd be a real help if you stayed and talked with Ginny. You can explain to Malfoy in the morning. C'mon, Harry, you've spent the past fortnight traveling around with him, and I know he took the Unbreakable Vow and all but he's still _Malfoy_, still a git, and he can perfectly well stay there alone for one night. He'd probably be happy about it," Ron argued. "It's your birthday, Harry, you shouldn't feel obligated to him, you should do something you _want_ to do."

I am, Harry thought but didn't say. "Look, I made a promise, and I'm going to keep it."

"So you'd rather be in Grimmauld Place with Draco-fucking-Malfoy than here. Right. Guess I know where I stand, then," said Ron, and turned his back.

"Ron..." Harry started, but there was nothing more he could say when Ron was being so unreasonable. "I'll be back at the weekend." He didn't bother to wait for an answer he knew would not be forthcoming, simply picked up both rucksacks and Hedwig's empty cage and headed downstairs to thank Mr. and Mrs. Weasley before he left. He was glad when he reached the sitting room that Ginny was not in evidence; he wasn't sure what he could say to her just now.

"Hermione," he nudged her shoulder.

"Yes?" She put her finger in the book she was reading and looked up.

"Could you send Hedwig on to Grimmauld Place tomorrow? She's out flying, or I'd take her now," he explained.

"All right. Are you not coming back here?" she asked, her voice concerned.

"Not tomorrow, I don't think. Maybe Sunday." Harry did not want to tell her about his argument with Ron, not when she and Ron were evidently not getting on so well either. "But if Hedwig's there with me, I can let you know if anything changes. I'd better get going." He felt Hermione's eyes on him as he went over and made his farewells to the elder Weasleys, and hoped she would keep any speculations she might have to herself.

The whole evening had been pretty much a washout, Harry thought glumly, except that he'd found out that the locket _was_ a Horcrux. Arguing with Ron had been uncomfortably like being back in fourth year and being blamed for having his name come out of the Goblet of Fire when he hadn't put it in there in the first place. The dank smell of the street as he Apparated to Grimmauld Place did nothing to cheer him up. He concentrated hard to overcome the Fidelius charm, and was relieved to see number twelve appear.

"Draco?" he called once he was inside with the heavy door closed behind him, grateful that with Mrs. Black's portrait gone he no longer had to be silent in the hallway.

Emerging from the library, Draco said, "Something wrong?"

"No," Harry started to deny, then admitted, "Yeah. Ron and I had a row, that's all. He was trying to get me to stay there tonight. Don't worry about it. Here, I brought our stuff along – we completely forgot it this morning. I guess it was a good thing I went back."

A smile quirked Draco's lips as he bent down and rummaged through his rucksack. "Look what I have here – that last bottle of wine. Fancy a drink?"

"I fancy _you_," Harry told him, taking the bottle and putting it aside so that he could grab onto Draco without chancing that it would fall. "I fancy having that present you've kept promising."

"You'll have it, no fear," Draco assured him. "In due course." He gave Harry a quick kiss before disentangling himself. "Let's take all this upstairs first, I've found us a room, and I think a celebratory birthday drink is in order before anything else."

Harry followed him up to the second floor, scuffing along the threadbare rug that covered the steps, and went along the corridor towards the back of the house.

"I wanted to be well away from that portrait, just in case," said Draco, opening a door with a flourish and gesturing Harry inside. "So here we are. Oh, blast it, no glasses for the wine. Hang on." He set down the bottle and his rucksack and disappeared. Harry could hear his footsteps drumming down the stairs.

The bed was made up with fresh sheets, the blue duvet just slightly askew so that it hung lower on one side than the other. Harry tried to remember who had been using this room two summers before. Lupin, he thought. Or perhaps it had been Tonks? Not that it mattered. He pulled off his trainers and flopped onto the bed with a sigh, his eyes drifting closed.

"Harry?" Draco's voice pulled him back from the edge of sleep. "You'd better wake up or I'll drink this all myself."

He shoved himself upright and leaned back against the elaborately carved dark wooden headboard. "Ouch." A piece of ornate foliage had jabbed him in the ribs, and he snagged a pillow to shove between himself and the offending protrusion. Accepting a glass from Draco, Harry thanked him.

"You're welcome." Draco touched the rim of his glass against Harry's. "Happy birthday, Harry."

The wine was fragrant on his tongue as he drank.

"Did you find out about the locket?" Draco asked.

"I did." Harry swallowed a mouthful of wine. "Hermione said that the brighter the light, the more of the wizard's magic is in the object, and the light on this was so bright that it _has_ to be a Horcrux," Harry told him, grinning. "So you were wrong."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Happens to the best of us at times. But I'm glad I was. That means you've done what you wanted, you've found one of them. Three down, then, three to go?"

"Once this locket is destroyed, yes," agreed Harry. "Hermione believes that finding an indirect way to do it, not attacking the locket directly with my magic, would be safest. Ron thinks a Dissolving Potion of some sort might work. Do you have any ideas?" He took another gulp.

"Not about that, just at the moment. We can discuss it tomorrow." Draco reached out and took the nearly-empty wineglass from Harry's hand, setting it on the table beside the bed. Then he carefully removed Harry's glasses and put them aside too. "But I have some other ideas... if you're interested."

"Like what?" Harry felt his heart pounding.

"You seemed to enjoy that back rub last night. How about starting there? Except that you might find it nicer if you took off some of those clothes."

Hastily Harry tugged his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor, and at Draco's sweeping gesture he stretched out prone across the mattress to let Draco kneel over him.

"I found this in the bathroom," Draco said, and Harry felt something cool drip between his shoulder blades. "Don't know whose it is, or was, but it didn't smell _too_ sickly sweet. Cucumber, the bottle says."

Firm hands kneaded along Harry's spine, starting at his neck and going all the way down to his sacrum before sweeping upward and repeating again. Draco was sitting on the backs of Harry's thighs, but he wasn't too heavy for comfort.

"All right?" Draco's voice drifted into his ear, and Harry nodded against the smooth fabric under his left cheek.

"Is this my birthday present?"

Draco chuckled. "Only part of it. In fact... I think perhaps it would be best if you just stripped right now, rather than later." His weight shifted off Harry's legs. "There you are, you can sit up again."

Harry levered himself up and swung his legs around so that he could tug his jeans down.

"Everything," said Draco, watching.

"Aren't you going to, as well?" Harry asked, looking pointedly at Draco, who was still fully clothed.

A wolfish grin spread over Draco's face. He shrugged and rose to undress, taking his wand out and setting it down on the bed within reach. Harry briefly wondered what Draco could need it for, but was distracted by seeing all that expanse of pale skin.

"Before you lie down again though," Draco murmured, stepping closer. He raised a hand and traced the line of the scar on Harry's forehead, then put one hand on either side of Harry's jaw and drew him in for a kiss that tasted of wine and set the blood pounding through Harry's veins, a kiss full of teeth clicking and tongues thrusting with urgent need. Harry pushed his hips against Draco's, wanting more, now, but Draco pulled back to say breathlessly, "Patience. You'll like what I have planned, I promise."

"And if I don't?" Not that Harry thought that likely.

"Then tell me and I'll stop," said Draco, smirking a little. "But I'll wager Knuts to Galleons you won't want to do that. Go on, back on the bed."

Harry stretched out again. Draco resumed kneading, now focusing on Harry's legs, and he relaxed under the firm touch. He hardly noticed how much time passed, or Draco moving to massage his shoulders and arms, then back down to his lower back and arse, until Draco began to speak quietly.

"If someone had told me three months ago that I'd be in the old Black house tonight, with you, like this, I'd've called them a nutter, you know."

Yes, thought Harry. Even three weeks ago, he would have said the same.

"Not that I didn't imagine being with you..." Draco's voice faded for a moment, "but you know that already. I never thought it would actually happen, though, not in my wildest dreams." His hands stilled for an instant, then resumed moving in what was unmistakably a caress, running over the curve of Harry's arse. "Probably I shouldn't say this. You'll laugh, maybe, or think I'm lying or saying it with ulterior motives or that it's the wine talking. But it's your birthday, and you're here with me, you had a fight with your best mate Ron tonight because you wouldn't break your word about coming back, so I might as well say it and get it over with because it's not going to change. And I don't expect you to reciprocate, don't worry about that. I love you, Harry. Maybe it's crazy, but I do. I had to say it. If you don't want to know it, though, tell me and I can put a memory charm on you so that you won't remember... I got rather good at them this summer, putting them on Muggles who saw me when I needed to be hidden."

Harry had listened to Draco's rambling confession with a certain amount of embarrassment, glad that he could not see him. Draco _loved_ him? Fancied him, yes, that had been amply demonstrated, and Harry was even willing to accept the improbable truth that they had become friends, but love? That was a different cageful of nifflers altogether. Draco's offer to Obliviate what he had said from Harry's memory, though – that was no good. It wouldn't change anything, it would just leave Harry ignorant of the truth. He tried to sort through his own feelings and decide how he should respond, but Draco was still talking.

"So if you want that, tell me, because I'll do it for you. Later. What I want to do for you now is to make you feel really, really good. Will you let me, Harry?"

"Yeah." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and repeated, "Yeah, I will. And about the rest..."

"Don't say anything now," Draco broke in. "Please. As I said, I don't expect you to feel the same, you've made it pretty clear that you don't want to be seriously involved, and that's all right. Well, not all right, but I understand."

"Okay," Harry said, relieved not to have to answer. There had been too many ups and downs today and he could not cope with any more. The thought that Draco Malfoy loved him, or was in love with him, and what was the difference anyhow? – it was too much to handle right now. "Go ahead then." He sighed and shut his eyes.

Draco was muttering something that Harry couldn't quite hear.

"No memory charms," he said sharply.

"I wouldn't do that unless you asked," Draco replied, sounding insulted. "Relax, Harry. This is to make you feel good, remember." He began to press kisses onto Harry's neck, soft and wet at first and then turning more insistent.

There was a faint scrape on his skin as Draco rubbed his cheek against Harry's shoulder blade, working his way down Harry's right side. Harry was glad that he was not ticklish, because he was sure that he would have been rolling and laughing uncontrollably if he were. As it was, what Draco was doing felt wonderful – each lick and nibble seared into his skin and set up an answering throb in his cock. He shifted, trying to ease the pressure.

When Draco pulled away, Harry wanted to protest, but Draco was saying, "Roll over," and when Harry did within seconds his cock was in Draco's mouth, wet heat and suction and this was nothing like anything he had ever done with Ginny. Looking down, Harry watched Draco's head moving, fair hair brushing over Harry's stomach and thighs – when had Draco's hair grown so long? Harry mused irrelevantly. He reached down to stroke the fine strands back, suddenly wanting to see Draco's face, or as much of it as he could. Suddenly he was coming, gloriously, with Draco's mouth still on him.

Grey eyes looked up to meet his and Harry breathed, "Oh, _Merlin_, where'd you learn that," reaching down to pull Draco up.

"Oh, here and there," Draco evaded smugly. He snaked one arm under Harry's waist. "I'd've given you a more... permanent... present, but..."

"It was perfect," Harry said. "Perfect. But shouldn't I... you know... I mean, it doesn't seem quite fair to you." He glanced down to where Draco's cock pressed hard against his hip.

"This was supposed to be _your_ present. But I'll tell you what." Draco wriggled slightly, turning. "Sit up a bit against the headboard. There, yeah." He lifted Harry's hand to his mouth and licked the palm, then wrapped it around his cock, already damp with sweat, and placed his own hand over Harry's, setting a fast irregular pace. It took only a moment before he was pulsing in sticky spurts through Harry's fingers and relaxing bonelessly against Harry's chest.

Harry wiped his hand off against the duvet – a _Scourgify_ would take care of it later just as well as sooner – and wrapped his arms around Draco, inhaling the smell of sweat and sex with hints of the cucumber lotion Draco had been using. He thought about what Draco had said earlier. "I love you, Harry." He couldn't have been saying it to get anything from Harry; if anything the statement was likely to have had the opposite effect. Which suggested that Draco really meant it. Whatever he meant by it.

"Harry," Draco interrupted his private musings.

"What?"

"Perhaps _under_ the covers, if that's all right with you?"

"Oh, sure." He didn't much want to move, it was too comfortable lying here like this, but since Draco had asked... Harry managed to shove the duvet and sheets over enough to slide underneath, pulling Draco with him.

"That's better." Draco settled against him again, his breath slowing.

Thin moonlight shone in through the uncurtained window, making patterns across the bed and floor. Harry lay awake for a long time, thinking of Draco. Of Ginny. Of himself. He looked at Draco's face, slack and peaceful and shadowed, and whispered, "I think I love you, too."

Note: a more explicit version of this chapter is available at my website.


	28. In Harry's House

**28. In Harry's House**

He led Harry to the room he had chosen for them on the second floor, realized belatedly that he had forgotten to bring wineglasses, and went to fetch some. It was one thing to accept a temporary expedient in a cave, quite another when one was in a proper house.

Harry was sprawled on the bed with his eyes closed when Draco returned. The wire rims of his glasses neither hid the dark circles under his eyes nor concealed the scar slashed across his forehead. His shirt had come untucked, creeping up to reveal a strip of skin above the waistband of his jeans and Draco's fingers itched with the urge to unbutton the button, unzip the zip and have at Harry. No. Slow and easy was the way to do it... or as slow as he could stand. Although... Harry could be surprised into certain responses. Draco hadn't intended to tell Harry that he wanted to kiss him, that first night in Little Hangleton; it had been weariness and carelessness that had led to his confession. But it had worked. Harry _had_ kissed him. Draco pondered that even as he nudged Harry and handed him a glass of wine.

"Cheers, Harry. Happy birthday," he said, clinking his own wineglass against Harry's. "Did you find out about the locket?"

The expression of satisfaction that settled on Harry's face as he said that the locket _was_ a Horcrux and that Draco had been wrong was only saved from complete insufferableness by Harry's obvious delight that he had at last found one of them. The proper next question, of course, was how to destroy the wretched thing, but Draco could not force an interest in that tonight.

"Let's discuss possible ways and means tomorrow, shall we?" Harry had nearly finished his wine, and so had Draco. He took Harry's glass and set it aside with his own on the table, removing Harry's spectacles as an afterthought. He rather liked how Harry looked without them – not that he looked _better_, but something about the way those green eyes fringed with dark lashes looked over at Draco, blinking softly in the attempt to focus – Harry seemed more ordinary then, just a friend with his own troubles, not The-Boy-Who-Lived as captured in the photos of _The Daily Prophet_. "I have some other ideas about what to do now... for instance, starting where I left off last night, with a back rub. You might want to take off some clothes," he added when Harry simply turned around.

When he was going through the rooms Draco had located some cucumber-scented hand lotion in the bathroom and had prudently decided to place it handy. It smelt a bit old, but luckily not rancid. He dribbled some onto Harry's back and began kneading the muscles along his spine, sweeping from top to bottom. It was flattering to feel Harry relaxing under his hands, trusting Draco completely. Draco _had_ taken the Unbreakable Vow and that could explain that surrender, but somehow Draco doubted that Harry had the Vow consciously on his mind just at the moment.

Having any clothes on Harry's body, though, was not going to work well for Draco's plans. "I think it would be best if you stripped down completely now, rather than later," Draco suggested.

Obediently Harry began to do so. "Aren't you going to as well?"

Well done, Harry. Draco grinned as he took his clothes off, watching Harry watch him. He briefly considered making it into a bit of a show, but that might just embarrass Harry if he did it with no warning, and embarrassment would ruin the mood he was hoping to create. Come to think of it, his plan for what to do with Harry tonight might be more than Harry was up for. Hm. Draco made certain that his wand was within reach. Harry's mouth tempted him, and before he resumed the massage, he couldn't resist giving Harry a long, thorough snog to tease him with thoughts of what might be happening later. When Harry started rubbing up against him, however, he pulled back. "Patience – I promise you'll like what I have planned."

Harry's lips were flushed and swollen, his breathing unsteady. "What if I don't?"

"Tell me you don't and I'll stop, but I'll bet you won't want me to," said Draco, thinking that Harry looked eminently shaggable in this state. "Go on, get back on the bed."

He had a moment's regret when Harry lay down, hiding that delicious cock from sight, but reminded himself to take the long view. A relaxed, willing, and happy Harry was the desired outcome here. Draco began again, massaging his legs from thigh to ankle and even the feet, using the cucumber lotion lavishly. Harry sighed and murmured and his legs spread apart temptingly, but Draco willed himself to ignore that, moving on to Harry's arms and shoulders next before finally returning to his lower back and kneading the firm contours of his arse.

Draco had been thinking of how he could introduce the idea of something a little more permanent than this partnership of convenience. It was tricky, given that Harry had made clear his reluctance to think of Draco as more than someone to have a bit of fun with on long summer evenings. The truth, he decided, might just work. The most effective manipulation of someone else's emotions was to tell the truth when you could – lies could be too easily found out, with negative consequences.

"I'd've never imagined this three months ago, you know. Not that I didn't think about being with you, you already know I did that," Draco said, recalling the kinds of fantasies he had once wanked to. The memory stilled his hands for a moment, and when he resumed he drew them along the tender skin caressingly, wanting Harry to stay relaxed but to start thinking about sex again.

"Perhaps I shouldn't say this, you'll think I'm doing it from ulterior motives," which he was, but saying so ought to convince Harry of the exact opposite, because who would _admit_ to that? "And maybe you'll laugh. But you did fight with your best mate Ron to come back here tonight, and my mind's not going to change, so I might as well tell you even though I honestly have no expectation that you'll reciprocate," and _that_ was certainly true. He hoped, was all. And he was babbling. Time to come to the point. "I love you, Harry. Crazy but true. But if you hate the thought so much you don't want to know about it, I can cast a memory charm to keep you from remembering afterward that I've even said this. Tonight, though, I want to make you feel really, really good... if you'll let me?"

When Harry didn't answer immediately, Draco experienced a moment of panic. What if he had misjudged Harry, and instead of being flattered despite himself, the other boy was exasperated at having to deal with an unwanted confession of love? He had had those often enough at Hogwarts, where half the female population was obsessed with the Boy Who Lived.

After what seemed like ages but was probably less than a minute in actual elapsed time, Harry replied, "Yeah, I'll let you. About the rest..."

Draco interrupted. "Don't say anything now. You've said before that you don't want to be involved, and I understand. Just... think about it."

"Okay." Harry pushed his head against the pillow. "Go on, then."

Picking up his wand, Draco began to mutter a quick cleaning spell. He had considered whether Harry might be willing to let Draco inside him tonight, and decided not to try that just yet. The first time – and Draco was virtually certain it would be Harry's first – was nearly always uncomfortable at best, not the kind of memory Draco wanted Harry associating with a statement of love. But there were other possibilities, things Draco had tried with Miles and with Blaise that he thought Harry might enjoy.

"No memory charms," warned Harry.

"Do you think I'd do that without you asking?" Draco couldn't quite keep the edge of irritation out of his voice. Someday, he hoped, Harry would relinquish those last lingering suspicions that Draco might do something to his detriment, which were patently foolish, given the Vow. At this point Draco had no intention of doing _anything_ Harry didn't want anyway. "Relax, Harry. You're supposed to be feeling good here." Under his breath he finished reciting the spell.

The back of Harry's neck was half-hidden under curls of dark hair, which Draco pushed aside so that he could lick the skin there, tasting of salt sweat and the flavor that was uniquely and undeniably _Harry_. He rubbed his cheek against Harry's shoulder blade and inhaled the scent of him as he nosed the joint of his arm. Then he began to slowly move along Harry's side, using his teeth now to bite gently at the pale skin, thankful that Harry was not ticklish. When Miles had tried to do this to him Draco had laughed so hard that the mood that night had been utterly ruined and Miles had left in a huff.

Harry's hipbone jutted under his fingers, and Draco tilted his head slightly to brush his lips over the swell of Harry's arse. The cries Harry made as Draco sucked at him were almost enough to bring Draco off right then, rubbing against the duvet. _He_ was making Harry react like this... With an effort he pulled his face away and muttered urgently, "Roll over." As soon as Harry did Draco's mouth was fastened on his cock. He didn't want to risk choking – he'd never been very good at getting his throat to relax enough to accept a cock at full length – so he used his right hand to stroke the base of Harry's shaft and the left on his balls.

It couldn't be long, and Harry was enough of a gentleman to gasp out, "I'm going to..." before his pulsing cock spilled into Draco's mouth. Draco swallowed it all eagerly, savoring the essence of Harry, making sure not a drop was left before he looked up to see Harry watching him wonderingly.

"Where did you learn _that_?" Harry asked, and Draco allowed himself a smile as he wriggled upward. He was a little surprised that Harry had never done this with Ginny Weasley... or perhaps he had, and it hadn't been as satisfying. Giving good head took practice.

"Here and there. I'd've given you a gift that was more long-lasting, but..."

"It was perfect," Harry broke in. "But," he gnawed his lip, worrying it between his teeth, "shouldn't I... it seems a bit unfair to you." His hand moved a few inches towards Draco's cock.

"This was _your_ birthday present," Draco said firmly, but he could tell that Harry was going to feel guilty and unhappy if he didn't do anything for Draco, so he lifted Harry's wrist and licked his palm thoroughly, then wrapped both their hands around his aching length. He moved them hard and fast and it took only a few strokes before he came and relaxed back into the curve of Harry's arm.

The window stood open to the night air and moonlight, and after a few minutes Draco shivered in the draft cooling the sweat from his body. "Harry? Perhaps we might get _under_ the covers?" He was surprised Harry wasn't cold too.

"Oh." Harry tugged at the duvet, pulling it out from under his body and flipping it over them as Draco hastily cast a cleaning charm.

"That's better." Draco curled up next to Harry again, feeling Harry's heartbeat as he rested his head against Harry's chest. A tentative hand stroked his hair and he smiled at the sheer tactile pleasure of it as he drifted into sleep.

He woke languorously, stretching until he could feel his spine pop, and rolled over. Green eyes gazed into his own. "Good morning," said Draco. "Sleep well?"

Harry shook his head.

Draco had meant it as a rhetorical question. "Why not?" Surely Harry had been sufficiently relaxed to have done so. At least when Draco had drifted off, he had been.

"I was thinking..." Draco saw Harry swallow.

"Well, you know thinking is dangerous," Draco said lightly. "Best to avoid it if you can."

"Don't _laugh_," said Harry vehemently. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"Sorry." Draco sobered. "What's the matter?"

"You are. That is, what you said last night. I was thinking about that most of the night."

"And?" The way Harry was now looking at his own hands, biting at the ragged edge of a nail, made Draco worried. Had he misjudged Harry's temper, should he not have mentioned what he felt for Harry at all? But there was no one Draco admired more in the world, not even his father, for all that Harry sometimes drove him crazy too, and the lust he felt was equally undeniable. Altogether "love" was the only word Draco could use to describe his emotions, despite it seeming inadequate or inaccurate at times.

"And so that's why I didn't sleep well. Because I do love Ginny, you know, but I think... I think I love you too. And I don't know what to do now." Harry looked miserable, still staring at his hands as if some answer would be written there. "I thought finding the Horcruxes would start solving my problems. Find them all, destroy them, then go after Voldemort. Lose or win, at least things would be _over_. And now there's all _this_ complicating matters."

Draco's impulse was to argue his own case, but he thought better of it. Instead he said carefully, "If there's something you want me to do...?"

Harry sighed. "Not really. It's not as if it's your _fault_, you've only been honest about what you feel, and I should be too. I just wish it made things easier instead of more confusing, that's all."

Relieved that Harry seemed to harbor no regrets about the night before, Draco said, "I told you last night that I wouldn't demand that you feel the same way I do... and that's still true. If you want not to, well, mess around anymore for awhile..."

But Harry was shaking his head. "That wouldn't make any difference. I know. At least it never did with Ginny."

"Good. I mean... I'd miss sleeping with you. That is..." Draco floundered, trying to find the right words. "Never mind, we can talk more about this later, right? Were we supposed to meet anyone today, or go anywhere?"

"No. I told Hermione we'd probably stop by the Burrow on Sunday. I was thinking that you and I could try to think of ways to destroy the Horcrux. Although I expect she'll be working on that too, knowing her," he grinned wryly. "There's nothing in the house for breakfast, I'm pretty sure. I think there's a café in the next street though; we can eat there and then pick up something to cook later. Can you cook?"

"I know a kettle-boiling spell, but that's about it," Draco admitted. "Can you?"

"Oh yes." Harry grimaced. "Aunt Petunia made certain of that. I did quite a lot of cooking and washing-up at the Dursleys'. But it's not exactly my favorite thing, so I was hoping you could help."

"If you'll tell me what to do, I'll do it," offered Draco. "It can't be all that different from making potions, can it? Or – wait. I know you wouldn't want Kreacher here, he's not trustworthy, but would Dobby come? I think it's awfully queer to have to pay a house-elf, but if it means neither of us would have to worry about this sort of thing and could focus on the Horcruxes and all that?"

"That's an idea," Harry said. "Hermione's supposed to send Hedwig to me here today, so I could have her take a message to Dobby to see if he wanted to work for me here. I don't think he gets on very well with the other house-elves at Hogwarts. They think he's a bit mad to enjoy his freedom so much and want a salary. Although... if he comes here, he can't keep an eye on Kreacher."

"How important is that? If Kreacher doesn't know we're here, there's not much he could tell my aunt Bellatrix even if I hadn't specifically ordered him not to tell anyone that he'd seen either of us," Draco pointed out reasonably.

"True." Harry screwed up his face in thought. "I guess I'll ask Dobby, then. It _would_ be nice not to have to do any cooking or cleaning for however long we're here. Only... he'll know that we're sharing a room, and a bed."

"So what?"

"So won't he know that we're, well, you know." Harry's face was bright red. "Shagging."

"But he's a _house-elf_." Draco was baffled. "They all know perfectly well not to mention things like that to anyone. Not even a freed elf would do that." Harry still looked uncomfortable. "Believe me, Harry. I don't think they even think about it, any more than you'd think about gnomes going at it in your garden, especially if you weren't actually there to see. Just no interest."

"If you say so," said Harry doubtfully. "I'm starving; Mrs. Weasley's dinner was a long time ago. Let's go find some breakfast."

Less than two hours later they were back at Twelve Grimmauld Place, sitting with cups of tea in front of them and talking about the Horcrux.

"Right, as I was saying last night, in Hermione's opinion..."

"And Hermione _always_ has an opinion," Draco interjected, "and it's always right."

Harry flashed him a smile. "Not always, but more than often enough to be worth listening to. At any rate she thinks I ought to try some indirect method to destroy the locket as a Horcrux. Her thought was that the reason Dumbledore was injured was probably because he worked a spell on the ring directly, and there was some sort of resistance. Which makes sense. Ron's idea was to try a potion. He says Fred and George might have run across something that would work, with all the experiments they do to come up with their Wizarding Wheezes. I told him I'd rather try to solve it ourselves before asking the twins, though. What do you think?"

Poking a finger at the locket, Draco pondered. "I think Hermione has something there. It might or might not work, but at least it's a safer way to start. And for indirect magic, yeah, a potion of some sort is the obvious first choice. There are some books in the library here that might be useful for finding possible potions; I was looking at one last night while you were away."

"Great." Harry began to stand up.

"Let's read them in here," suggested Draco. "The library's awfully dim and musty. I know where I saw the right books, I'll go and fetch them."

"We both can," Harry said. "They're mine now, and I ought to know what's here."

Draco showed Harry the shelves that seemed to hold most of the potions books, and Harry knelt down to peer at them, pulling out one after another and glancing through them, putting aside what he thought would be useful. Draco piled the ones that Harry chose in a neat stack on the library table; in between, he studied Harry's face from the side, thinking.

They spent most of the rest of the day going through the books, taking a break for lunch, and marking those recipes that might be useful with strips of paper torn from an ancient copy of _The Daily Prophet_. By the end of the afternoon, they had over two dozen marked.

"I haven't even _heard_ of some of the ingredients in these," Harry complained.

"Yeah." Draco rubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist – without a house-elf taking care of things, the books were all filthy and his fingers were positively black with dust – and sat back. "Weren't you going to see if Dobby would come work for you?" He held up his grime-streaked hands. "This is disgusting."

"Oh, all right," said Harry, and scribbled a note on a scrap from the newspaper's margin. His owl Hedwig had arrived just after lunch; now he went over to her cage and lifted her out. "You're going to go to Hogwarts tonight," he told her, stroking her feathers. "To the house-elf Dobby."

The owl hooted softly as Harry tied the note to her leg, then took off through the open window. "I asked him to come here tomorrow morning, if he was willing," Harry said, watching her disappear into the cloudy night.

"Good. We'll have to think of what to do about that portrait of Mrs. Black, you know. Probably best not to have Dobby around it," suggested Draco.

"He wouldn't deliberately give away to her that you're not the one in charge, not if I asked him not to," Harry said, "but you're probably right. Safer to avoid the possibility altogether. Maybe I'll just tell him to stay out of that room." He stretched, then took off his glasses, wiped them on his shirt, and resettled them on his nose. "I think I've had about enough of this for now. After dinner we can go through what we've marked down as likely and see which we might be able to try making without too much difficulty. Anything that has to brew for months or has ingredients we can't obtain pretty easily should go to the bottom of the list."

"Is there a room we could use for the experiments? I didn't notice any," Draco remarked.

"There's a couple of rooms in the cellar, below the kitchen, that might work. Rather spidery, of course." Harry made a face. "As long as Ron doesn't have to go in there it'll be all right. He hates spiders."

Draco automatically filed away that bit of information – having a familiarity with someone's weaknesses could be useful at unexpected times, even if he had no particular need to know those of Ron Weasley at the moment. "Shall we look?"

The room Harry chose was not actually too cobwebby, although Draco thought that having Dobby around to clean it would be a good thing. It seemed to have been used for storage at one time, judging from the crates piled in one corner, but it also contained a fairly sturdy large wooden table that would be useful for working on.

"Sirius would've had some basic potions ingredients around somewhere, I expect," said Harry. "I'll take a look upstairs. But for some of those recipes I'll have to go to Diagon Alley."

Draco nodded. He wished he could go too, but it would be too dangerous. There were bound to be witches and wizards working for Voldemort there, any of whom would be delighted to curry favor by reporting the whereabouts of Draco Malfoy, if not actually capturing him for the Dark Lord. For some reason Draco thought then of Professor Snape and wondered how he was doing. The man had, after all, almost certainly saved his life... and had kept him from having to kill Dumbledore. And he would surely know of a potion to do what they needed. Draco doubted, however, that Harry would want anything to do with Snape unless it gave him the opportunity to exact some kind of revenge for Dumbledore's death.

"Tomorrow's soon enough for that," Harry decided. "It's nearly closing time for the shops anyhow. Since Dobby won't be here until tomorrow, assuming he does come, and you say you can't cook, I guess I'd better do it."

"I'll help if you like," Draco repeated his earlier offer. He would have suggested going out, or bringing in a takeaway, but he was nearly out of Muggle money and didn't want to owe Harry until he could have more Galleons changed.

"Don't worry." Harry's smile was infectious. "I'm not going to do anything difficult. Beans on toast I think – can't go wrong with that."

It was an odd and rather starchy combination, Draco decided forty minutes later as he was chasing a last forkful around his plate, but not bad. He had watched with interest as Harry had lighted the stove and toasted the bread. The tin opener was a peculiar Muggle device, far more trouble than the simple opening spell Draco would have chosen, but Harry was evidently accustomed to such things from the dexterity with which he wielded it. All Draco had had to do was to set the table and keep Harry company as the beans heated.

Dinner over, a long evening stretched out in front of them. Draco thought about going to talk to the portrait of Mrs. Black, but the idea made him tired. He could do that tomorrow or the next day, while Harry was buying potions ingredients and he was stuck alone in the house. Harry suggested a game of wizarding chess. That didn't appeal much to Draco either, and he looked along the library shelves, hoping to find some interesting book. The Mark on his arm itched and he scratched at it. Harry looked worried.

"Does it hurt?"

"No, it's just itchy," said Draco, scratching harder. "Especially where Grang... Hermione made that change."

"I wonder..." Harry bent forward to peer more closely. "I wonder if Voldemort is trying to summon the Death Eaters? If maybe that small change was enough so that he can't reach you any more?"

Draco felt a wild flare of hope, but he shook his head firmly. "Honestly, I don't think it can have been enough for that. But he rarely went as much as a fortnight without calling us, these last six months. If a month goes by and no summons, then maybe we can assume it's worked, but I think it'll be safer if Hermione tries a few more times to alter it." He shuddered. "Painful though that was."

"This doesn't hurt, does it?" asked Harry, stroking his fingers lightly over the marked flesh of Draco's arm. The little hairs there rose up in gooseflesh.

"No." It felt good, actually, to have Harry touch him like that.

"Good." Now Harry was tracing the veins of his arm up to the elbow, the shoulder, the neck, pushing fabric aside... and then he leaned over to fasten his mouth at the hollow of Draco's throat. His glasses bumped, cold, against Draco's skin. Draco gave a little groan, surprised but not at all displeased, and threaded his fingers into Harry's hair. When Harry let up on the love-bite, Draco tugged gently to tilt his head up.

"Are you sure... I mean, do you want to do this, really? It's not going to bother you later or anything?"

Harry shook his head, his green eyes almost luminous. "I think... I need more information to sort things out."

"You're making me feel like I'm the subject of a History of Magic essay," Draco complained, but his protest was cut off when Harry's mouth found his. Harry tasted of the tomato sauce from the beans, and unfamiliar but not unpleasant flavor. His hands curved around Draco's neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

"Maybe we should go somewhere besides this sofa," Harry said eventually, and Draco nodded agreement.

Note: a more explicit version of this chapter is available at my website.


	29. Diagon Alley

**29. Diagon Alley**

Whispering how he felt to a sleeping Draco did not make it any easier for Harry to fall asleep himself. He wasn't _used_ to the idea of being in love with another boy – most especially not Draco Malfoy. Enjoying the fooling around they had done was one thing; he could pass that off as just fun, or maybe boredom, nothing better to do when they were trapped in each other's company. But then there was the development of friendship between them too. Was it the friendship that had complicated the sex, or the other way around? Whichever, it had made Harry's feelings far too tangled to sort out easily... and then there was Ginny. She had accepted their breakup rather well, all things considered, but Harry was sure she expected they would get back together once Harry defeated Voldemort. If he did. Harry had expected that too, but now... now he wasn't sure it was still what he wanted.

He shifted, trying to find a position that would let him rein in his racing thoughts and go to sleep. Draco, next to him, sighed and moved a little as well, curling up so that his back was toward Harry, only an inch or two away. Harry could sense the warmth rising from his skin.

It had felt so good, having Draco's mouth on him. His mind started presenting him with ideas of other things he and Draco could do together. He wasn't entirely ignorant of the possibilities, even if he hadn't considered them as applying to himself until just lately. Dean had a collection of dirty magazines stashed in his trunk in the Gryffindor dormitory, and some of them had pictures of men with men as well as men with women. Seamus had always made fun of those, but Dean had only said equably that Seamus needn't look at anything he didn't like, and if he objected too strongly he needn't look at all.

For his part Harry had found the men-with-men pictures rather exciting, as much so as the ones with girls in them. He supposed that ought to have clued him in that maybe it wasn't only girls he fancied. Some of the pictures were awfully explicit; just thinking about them made Harry blush and squirm. Had Draco done any of those things? Did he want to do them with Harry? Did he, Harry, want to do them with Draco? He wasn't sure. Would Draco think less of Harry if he _didn't_ want to? He bit his lip. Draco had already taken things a little farther and faster than Harry might have chosen... but he'd never been insistent, and Harry was pretty sure that if he'd said no and meant it, Draco would have backed down.

All this was not getting him any closer to sleep. Harry glared at the moonlight flooding in through the window, but it wasn't the light that was keeping him awake. He sighed, closing his eyes. Perhaps if he tried counting sheep... or just concentrated on breathing slowly and rhythmically, he might drift off.

He did eventually doze for a while, but he woke early and was kept awake by his thoughts, still turning over what he should do. When Draco woke up and asked how he had slept, Harry found himself blurting out what he was thinking. Not that he loved Draco – he still wasn't quite ready to say that openly – but his confusion over the whole situation. Draco seemed to understand how Harry felt; he offered to do whatever Harry wanted, even not fool around any more if that would help, even go away. Harry felt a spike of panic through him at the idea of not having Draco there, then wondered at himself. When had that happened?

They had to go out for breakfast, as there was nothing in the house, and Draco suggested that perhaps Harry could get Dobby to come cook and clean for them. The idea that Dobby would know about the two of them sleeping together bothered Harry, even though Draco insisted that house-elves simply didn't care about such things. But he agreed to the plan.

After discussing the Horcrux for awhile, Draco conceded that Ron's idea about using a potion to destroy it seemed workable, so they spent most of the rest of the day going through Potions books in the library for ideas. More of the recipes seemed possible than Harry would have liked, especially since many of them either took weeks to brew, required obscure or even illegal ingredients, or both. But there was nothing for it but to start trying... tomorrow, he decided. There was a room in the cellar that would do for experimental brewing, and he could go to Diagon Alley to begin collecting the needed ingredients for some of the easier potions. Too bad Draco couldn't go along; Harry would have liked to hang out there with him, eating ice creams and talking over the booms on display at Quality Quidditch Supplies, but it wouldn't be safe. Other Death Eaters were doubtless on the lookout for the escaped Draco Malfoy.

He sent Hedwig to offer Dobby the job, careful to note that Dobby would need to show the letter to Professor McGonagall in order to be able to reach number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Even if the house-elf decided to accept, however, he wouldn't arrive until tomorrow. So Harry cooked beans on toast for the two of them. Dull perhaps but easy, and though they were apparently unfamiliar to Draco he ate with evidence of enjoyment.

Once they had eaten they went back tot he library. Draco was scratching at the Dark Mark on his arm, which made Harry wonder if perhaps Hermione's attempts to alter it, small though they seemed, had been successful. Maybe Voldemort was summoning the Death Eaters right now and was unable to get through to Draco's no-longer-perfect Mark? He suggested that idea to Draco, who looked hopeful for an instant but said fatalistically that it was too soon to be certain and that Hermione would have to keep trying.

Harry touched the seared-looking lines of the Mark, the softness of Draco's skin tempting him to slide his hand further up. He bent his head to the hollow of Draco's throat and sucked at it. Draco tugged gently at his hair and asked, "Do you really want to do this? You seemed... ambivalent about it, before, and I don't want you to be bothered or upset, doing something you're not sure of."

"I need more information to sort this out, I think," said Harry, gazing at Draco's pale narrow face. "Maybe we should go back upstairs, rather than stay on this sofa, don't you agree?"

Warmth curled in his belly as Draco grinned at him. On the way up to their bedroom, though, Harry felt a little shy. He held Draco's hand enlaced in his own but didn't kiss him again until they were there and had started undressing.

"Let me." Harry stopped Draco as he was starting to take off his jeans. Draco looked at him oddly, then let his hands fall to his sides, allowing Harry to undo the button and pull down the zip. He slid one hand inside, under the elastic of Draco's underwear, touching sweat-damp hair and then Draco's cock, already hard. Draco gave a little gasp as Harry's palm closed around him, his eyes falling half-shut, and he groped for Harry's shoulder to pull him closer.

"Don't tease." Draco's voice was hoarse.

"I wouldn't," Harry responded, and kissed him insistently, pressing their bodies together with his fingers wrapped around Draco's cock. His own prick was equally firm as he pushed against Draco's thigh. "Oh..."

They fell onto the bed, still mostly clothed, mouths clinging together, hands moving, hips grinding frantically. Harry had had a vague plan to try sucking Draco off – he didn't have a lot of confidence in his ability, but he wanted to try to give the same pleasure to Draco as he himself had experienced last night – but desire was too urgent in both of them and Harry came, sticky inside his pants, after only a couple of minutes, and Draco followed almost immediately.

"Sorry," Harry muttered regretfully afterward, as they lay panting. "I meant to... you know. Keep it slow." He sneaked a look at Draco.

"It's all right." Draco shrugged and a rather wicked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Not like we can't try again, right?"

"Yeah." Harry smiled back and wiped his hand on his jeans. He wriggled closer to drape an arm over Draco, then pulled away and sat up to pull off his shirt. Draco watched him briefly before doing the same, standing to shuck off his jeans as well and muttering a quick cleaning charm. _Oh._ Harry finished undressing and did likewise, then got back on the bed.

Naked, they put their arms around each other. "So, just what information was it you wanted to acquire to sort things out?" Draco's breath tickled Harry's ear as he spoke.

Harry considered how to answer; he didn't want to lie. "I'm not sure," he said at last. "I mean obviously this is really good." His face was warm and he was sure that Draco could see him blushing, might even be laughing at him a little. "I just don't know if it's _enough_. Does that make any sense?"

"Some." Draco nipped at Harry's ear and he gave a little squeak of surprise. "So you've realized that shagging another boy is something you like... but you're still not sure if it's actually what you want." He sighed against Harry's neck. "You still fancy Ginny Weasley, don't you."

It wasn't spoken as a question, but to his own surprise Harry found himself saying, "Not really. I don't think so. If she were here right now and I had to choose between you to have sex... I'd choose you." He said the last words almost in a whisper, looking at Draco's collarbone as he spoke.

He heard Draco suck in his breath. "You would? Really?" Draco's voice cracked, and Harry glanced up to see an expression of amazed delight. "I didn't think... I hoped... oh, Merlin." Draco was trembling, his cock prodding against Harry, as he kissed Harry's face with frantic kisses.

Sliding his hands down to Draco's arse, Harry kissed back a little diffidently, almost embarrassed by Draco's response. He hadn't said what he had to be flattering, or anything of the sort, and while it was true that he felt he'd rather be with Draco than with Ginny just now, he wasn't sure if that was perhaps largely because Draco was _here_ and Ginny was not. But Draco _was_ here, and the way he was kissing and touching made Harry shiver and burn both at once, remembering how he had felt last night. He wanted that again, wanted also to make Draco cry out with the same pleasure he had had in being sucked off, and so he pressed Draco back against the sheets and slid down, stroking his fingers over Draco's chest and belly and hips.

It was awkward, and he felt as if he wasn't doing it properly, but Draco didn't seem to object to Harry's shortcomings, murmuring, "Yeah, Harry – oh fuck – yeah, that's good – Harry, yeah," in an ongoing litany as his hands clenched spasmodically. After he came, Draco pulled Harry up, opening his mouth for another kiss even as his hands reached for Harry's cock. "D'you want...?" Draco asked in a hoarse whisper when they broke off for a moment to breathe, and Harry replied, "Yeah," without quite being certain of what Draco was offering.

Perhaps Draco realized that, because he paused after rolling them over to clarify. "Shall I suck you off? Because if you want to fuck me instead, you can."

Hearing Draco put it so baldly made Harry squirm a bit despite his eagerness. He wasn't sure if he was ready to fuck Draco. He'd never done it with Ginny, even. The thought of having Draco's cock up his own arse was intimidating; what if it hurt? And the reverse worried him too. What if he hurt Draco by accident, not really knowing what he was supposed to be doing? So he muttered, "Suck me," and Draco nodded acceptance and began to slither down Harry's body, kissing and licking at every inch of skin between Harry's throat and his cock before finally there was wet warmth and suction around his prick and it felt so good that Harry thought he was going to die from pleasure right there.

He heard himself whimpering, calling Draco's name, pleading, finally crying out that he was coming just seconds before orgasm overwhelmed him. It was just as brilliant as last night, better by far than anything he'd experienced alone, better than when he and Ginny or he and Ron had messed around. Draco seemed so focused on him – he wasn't doing it because he wanted Harry to reciprocate, but because he wanted to make Harry feel this wonderful.

"So." Draco had crawled back up to press against Harry. "Do you have enough information now, or will you need more?" His voice sounded like he was suppressing a laugh, and Harry had to chuckle as well.

"Oh, I think the more evidence, the better," he said, sliding an arm around Draco and feeling their heartbeats gradually slowing. "If you don't mind?"

"Not at all. Um." Draco sounded a little nervous now. "Like I said, we can try other things sometime if you want... but only if you want," he added in a rush. "I don't want to push you, I'm happy just to have had this, it's more than I'd've ever expected."

"I'm... I'm not sure about what else there is. I mean, I know about some things, but I've never done any of them. You know." Harry was glad that they hadn't turned on the light in the room. Perhaps Draco couldn't see how red his face was.

"That's okay," Draco assured him. "There was a time when that was true for me, too. I won't compare you to anyone else."

Harry wasn't sure if he believed that entirely, but it was nice to hear nonetheless. He wriggled a little, enjoying the feel of Draco's skin, stickiness of drying sweat and all, and rested his head against Draco's shoulder.

He woke, cold, sometime in the middle of the night. Draco had rolled away and was curled up into a ball on the far side of the bed. Harry moved closer and pulled the duvet up to cover them both. As he drifted off again, it struck him that it really was pleasant to sleep with someone this way, and that he wouldn't mind doing it on a longer-term basis... like, say, for years. Maybe the rest of his life. Maybe with Draco, maybe not – he wasn't optimistic enough to think in that way, not yet – but being with _someone_ sounded awfully nice.

"Master Harry!" The shrill voice of Dobby woke him again in mid-morning. "Dobby is so pleased to be asked to come and work for Harry Potter! What should Dobby do first?"

"Er..." Harry sat up, rubbing his eyes. Draco grumbled indistinctly as the movement let cool air under the duvet. "Could you make us some breakfast?"

Poking him, Draco said, "The portrait."

Harry couldn't remember which room the portrait of Mrs. Black was in, so he told Dobby, "And for right now, don't go into any rooms on the first floor, all right?"

Dobby nodded vigorously. "Dobby will have breakfast ready for Master Harry and Master Draco in half an hour."

"Please, Dobby, just say 'Harry' and 'Draco,'" Harry objected. Dobby looked shocked.

"Oh, no, Dobby could not do that. It would be improper." He popped out of sight, down to the kitchen, Harry assumed.

"See? I told you he wouldn't be bothered if he found us sharing a bed," said Draco in a tone that just missed being smug only because it was still sleepy. He gave Harry an inviting grin. "We've half an hour...?" His voice rose questioningly.

It was tempting to just lie down again and do whatever fooling around Draco had in mind, but Harry shook his head. "We ought to wash up and get dressed. I'd hate to have to say to Hermione tomorrow that we hadn't done anything much about destroying the Horcrux, so I'd better go down to Diagon Alley this morning and pick up the stuff to try out some of those potions we settled on yesterday."

Draco groused, but not very seriously, as he got up and went in to wash, "How long do you think it will take you there?"

"Probably a couple of hours." Harry pulled on his shirt and followed him into the bathroom. "Do you need me to stop at Gringotts for you? I don't know if I can get at your vault..."

"That's not necessary, you'd just need to change some of the Galleons I have to Muggle money." Then Draco's jaw dropped. "Oh, Merlin's balls," he swore. "I left my trunk at the Weasleys'."

"Don't worry about it. I know you have the money. I'll change some of mine and you can owe me till tomorrow – we'll get to the Burrow and pick up your trunk then," Harry told him.

Draco seemed a bit dubious, but he agreed. They clattered down the stairs together, lured by the smells of cooking.

Whatever his previous reservations about having Dobby there, Harry had to admit that it was awfully pleasant not to have to be the one to cook breakfast. He tucked in with great enthusiasm to bacon, eggs, and toast, thanking Dobby, who seemed surprised to have his labor acknowledged. Draco, too, raised his eyebrows, but shrugged and kept eating.

"What else does Master Harry want Dobby to do?"

"There's a lot of cleaning to be done," said Harry. "But don't worry about getting to the whole house straight away. Here and the library and our room, to begin with. Oh, and one of the cellar rooms first of all – Draco can show you which. There's also a room on the first floor that I want you _not_ to go into, Draco'll show you that too. The thing is, Dobby," Harry leaned down until he was practically nose-to-nose with the house-elf, "I want you to treat Draco just as you would me. All right? If he asks you to do something, you needn't get my permission."

"Dobby will. Is Harry Potter's Wheezy going to stay here too?" he asked eagerly.

"Not at present. It will be just the two of us living here... and I'm not sure for how long. Um." Harry realized that he didn't know how wizarding households were normally run, in practical terms. Would Dobby do the shopping? Somehow he couldn't imagine it, but perhaps there was a wizarding equivalent to Tesco's. He was pretty sure that Draco's mother didn't cart around bags of groceries. "If you have to go out and buy supplies, and need money, let one of us know. And _don't_ tell anyone, not anyone at all, that Draco is staying here, unless you've seen that person here with us yourself. It could be dangerous."

"Yes, Master Harry," said Dobby, and scuttled back into the kitchen.

"Thanks, Harry," Draco said, low.

"If you're living here, you ought to have an equal say with me." He met Draco's eyes and gave a little smile. "I trust you."

Draco gnawed at his lip and was suddenly very busy forking up the last bite of his egg. When he had finished chewing, he said, "What can I do while you're off in Diagon Alley? Should I see if I can get something useful out of old Mrs. Black?"

"That's a good plan. I should be back for lunch, though perhaps a late lunch – you can tell me if you've found out anything and then maybe we can start brewing a couple of those potions."

Little over an hour later, he had stopped at Gringotts and was strolling into Slug & Jiggers Apothecary with a long list of ingredients. Draco had written it up, bracketing what was needed for each of the different potions they planned to try to begin with, so that if one of the items was out of stock or excessively expensive, he wouldn't buy the rest for that potion unnecessarily.

The clerk raised his eyebrows when he looked over the parchment, but he said nothing beyond, "Some unusual potions you must be brewing." There were only a couple of things he was unable to supply, for which he apologized – they hadn't had a shipment of Chinese chomping cabbage in for some time, and the Re'em blood was a rare commodity, so that Harry would need to put his name on a waiting list for that. Since three of the potions used it, Harry decided he had better do so.

Altogether the purchases made a very sizeable bundle. Harry had to refuse the offer to have it delivered, however, since the various spells on the Black house made that impossible. Instead he levitated the parcel in front of himself as he walked slowly along Diagon Alley. He wanted to get Draco something, as a way to make up for the fact that the other boy couldn't come along. Sweets were a possibility, although they didn't seem special enough. Something from Quality Quidditch Supplies might do, except that they could hardly go flying under the circumstances. In the end, Harry chose a good set of gobstones. It might be a little childish but it was a game that Harry enjoyed despite his lack of skill. Draco could doubtless beat the robes off him and would be pleased to do so.

Laden down, Harry Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. Dobby had lunch prepared and Harry nudged Draco to catch his attention, saying, "You were right."

"About what?"

"To ask Dobby to work for me. Us." He took a forkful of cottage pie and ate with relish. Much better than Aunt Petunia's version, even when she wasn't trying to make it dietetic for Dudley.

Draco's cheeks turned pink. "Thanks." After eating a few bites, he added, "I never thought I'd hear you say I was right about anything."

Now it was Harry's turn to flush. "Was I really that much of a git at school?"

"Sometimes, yes. But I was too... and I had less excuse, really." Draco looked uncomfortable. "I mean, I _wanted_ to be friends with you, even though we started off badly, so I should have behaved better. Whereas you had no reason to want to be friends with me. If I'd gotten over my annoyance with Ron Weasley, maybe we could have been, a long time ago."

"We are now, though," said Harry firmly, "strange though it might seem. That's what matters. Maybe we wasted a few years, but we needn't waste any more, right?" He reached across the corner of the table and took Draco's hand, cool and dry against his own.

"Right. Even if we don't stay ... together, you know," Harry could almost hear the unspoken words, _as lovers_, and felt an impulse to deny them but could not since Draco had not spoken them, "after you destroy the Horcruxes and kill You-Know-Who, I hope we can stay friends."

"We can. We will," said Harry in a sure voice. Friends, he was quite comfortable with. Even friends who shagged. He gave Draco's fingers a quick squeeze before letting go and picking up his fork again. Through a mouthful of potato he asked, "Did you learn anything this morning from Mrs. Black's portrait?"

"Not much. I don't think it's going to be all that helpful to keep her around although I'm not sure what choice you have. Your Order of the Phoenix cleared away a lot of the family's magical possessions, especially the Dark Magic things, and what's left isn't going to be worth much – finding the one Horcrux was a real stroke of luck. She complained loudly the whole time about traitorous Mudblood thieves, but had nothing useful to say about any of her, her husband's, or her son's old acquaintances who might've been working for You-Know-Who." Draco looked thoughtful. "I don't believe she actually supported his agenda. I think she and old Mr. Black were tangential allies at best, even if Regulus worked for the Dark Lord. All her concern seemed to be with pureness of bloodlines and not wanting restrictions on what sorts of magic a witch or wizard could use. Rather like my father, really."

"Except that your father really did – does – support Voldemort. And your aunt, too," Harry pointed out a little sharply. Sitting here in Sirius's house, it was impossible to forget that it was Bellatrix Black Lestrange who had killed Sirius... and that Lucius Malfoy had done plenty of damage on the same night.

"I know that," said Draco angrily. "Don't blame me for what they've done. That's not fair."

"No, it's not. Sorry," Harry mumbled, unable to meet Draco's eyes. He'd spoken on impulse, and it was like holding Ron responsible for Percy being a prat – Ron would quite rightly object. He took a couple of deep breaths. "Sorry," he repeated, and now he could look at Draco again.

"Okay." Draco seemed just as worried as Harry was that they were arguing. "Let's not talk about that for now."

Harry nodded, and Draco went on, "We wanted to try brewing a couple of those potions today, right? I think Dobby has that room in the cellar mostly cleared up, so we could start."

"The Dissolving Draught looked straightforward and doesn't take long," said Harry, relieved to have apparently averted a quarrel. "It isn't _terribly_ likely to work, but worth a try, and we have all the ingredients for that one."

It felt odd to simply walk away from the table and leave the dirty dishes behind. Harry wasn't quite sure why; he had done so often enough at Hogwarts. Perhaps it was because he expected to at least carry away his plate in a house, and especially in this house where he had often done so before. He overcame the impulse, however, knowing that Dobby would be insulted, and went with Draco down to the cellar where Draco promptly took charge of the potion-mixing.

"Three grams of powdered asphodel," Draco murmured as they set to work. "Slice the valerian root thinner, okay? The directions say _finely_ chopped."

Harry grimaced slightly – Draco's style of command reminded him a little too much of Snape for comfort – but obeyed. "Then what?" he asked, sweeping the minced valerian into the cauldron.

"Stir clockwise for five minutes as I add the white cockerel blood," Draco instructed. He glanced down at the book again. "Then it sits undisturbed for two hours before the next step. We could get a start on the Reducing Embrocation in the meantime... it would probably be good to work on as many of these as we can simultaneously, since we have no idea which if any might actually destroy the Horcrux. If we do only one at a time it'll take much longer to test them all."

"Sure." Harry stirred as directed, and when the five minutes were up, he _Accio_'d another cauldron to the table. "Talk me through it."

By the end of the afternoon, they had no fewer than four additional potions in various stages of preparation and the Dissolving Draught was completed. Harry was oddly nervous about testing it. What if it didn't work? What if it _did_? Draco seemed to understand how he felt.

"We can only try," he said, putting his hand over Harry's. "If it doesn't work, we try again."

"I know." Harry held his breath and with his free hand, held onto the chain and lowered the locket into the cauldron of thick greenish potion. After a few minutes, he pulled it out again, and felt Draco squeeze his hand in sympathy as it appeared unchanged.

"One of them will work, I'm sure of it," said Draco. "We couldn't count on success the very first time."

"No, I suppose not." He hadn't really expected anything else, but was disappointed nonetheless. "I'll add the wormwood to the third cauldron, and then I'm ready for dinner. Tomorrow we go to the Burrow – maybe Hermione will have some more suggestions."

Draco tilted his head a little to one side as Harry finished giving eight stirs counterclockwise. "Should I go to the Weasleys', or should I stay here?"

"Go, of course." Harry was bewildered. "It's not like going to Diagon Alley – there'll be no one there who'd give you away to Voldemort. Plus we can try the _Permutatio_ spell again on the Dark Mark. Each little change will make you safer," he reminded Draco, who had pulled a face.

"I know." Draco sighed and reached out to stop Harry from leaving the room. "I appreciate that you're worried about me, really I do," he said, holding Harry tight. "Even if sometimes it doesn't seem like it."

"That's all right," said Harry, a little abashed, but he returned Draco's hug. "You'd do the same for me."

"Yes, I would." Draco's voice was quiet but fervent. He let Harry go and they went upstairs for dinner.

Note: a more explicit version of this chapter is available at my website.


	30. The Library

**30. The Library**

Draco had no objections whatsoever to going upstairs when Harry suggested it, and if he was a little disappointed when Harry jacked him off quickly, he was certain enough that there would be other opportunities – if not tonight, then tomorrow or another day – that when Harry apologized for coming so fast, he only smiled and said, "There's always later, you know." Then he stripped down, using a quick cleaning spell, and waited for Harry to do the same.

"So, what information did you need to sort things out?" he whispered, running his hands over Harry's skin.

"I'm not sure... this is really good, but I don't know if it's _enough_, you know?" Harry was blushing as he spoke.

Well if they hadn't tried enough yet to let Harry decide if he was interested, Draco was quite willing to do whatever else he might find necessary. "You like messing around with me, but you're not sure if that's what you really want." An unwelcome thought struck him, and he sighed. "You still fancy Ginny."

To Draco's amazement, Harry replied, "No, I don't think so. If she were here and I had to choose, I'd choose you."

Hearing that made Draco's heart give a great thump, matched by a sudden rush of blood to his cock. "Really? You would? I never thought... oh, Merlin." He kissed Harry, quick little kisses all over his face, unable to put any words to the feeling of sheer happiness. His hands were actually trembling as he stroked Harry's messy dark hair back from his face, and he hoped Harry wouldn't realize just how overwhelmed he was. Not that no one had ever said such a thing to him before. Miles had said all sorts of things, and even Blaise had had an unexpected streak of romance in him occasionally... _very_ occasionally. But this was different.

It seemed that maybe Harry did understand Draco's amazement, because he pushed Draco gently back against the pillows and gazed at him, his eyes so dilated that they scarcely looked green, murmuring, "Let me..." and then he slipped down Draco's body. A warm wet tongue swiped over him and he moaned. There was something in the way Harry was sucking him – Draco wasn't sure if Harry had ever done this before, although he suspected not – maybe it was just that it was _Harry Potter_, after all those years of fantasizing about exactly this.

"Oh, fuck yeah, Harry," Draco heard himself saying, struggling not to let his hips thrust up too hard. He tried to get Harry to release him, but Harry stubbornly hung on until Draco couldn't help himself and came into Harry's mouth.

"Harry, oh, come here." Draco couldn't hold back, he wanted Harry to feel like this too, so he pulled him up to kiss him, grasping Harry's cock as soon as he could reach it. "Do you want me?"

"Yeah," Harry breathed, but he didn't move the way Draco expected.

"I mean, do you want to fuck me? Because you can, if you want. Or I can suck you off," Draco clarified. He hoped that Harry would want to fuck him. He'd only bottomed a few times, actually, but enough to know that he liked it and wanted to do it with Harry... although not till Harry wanted it just as much.

The pause was long enough to raise Draco's hopes, but Harry said at last, his voice a little embarrassed, "Suck me." Oh, well. That was fine too. Draco made sure to use every technique he knew to enhance a blow job and was rewarded when Harry cried out, "Draco!" as he came.

Draco was grinning, almost chuckling, as he said, "Is _that_ enough information, or d'you still want more?"

Harry laughed too. "Isn't more always supposed to be better?"

"Of course, and we can do other things if you want, too... whenever you're ready." Draco ran a hand along Harry's back and hugged him. "But not till then. This is more than I ever thought I'd have; I don't want to push you." He did, actually, but he knew it was likely to have the opposite effect on a stubborn Gryffindor.

"I've never done... I mean, I know of some of what else there is, between two blokes, but..."

Putting a finger across Harry's lips, Draco assured him, "I'm not going to compare you to anyone else just because right now I have more experience than you. It's okay."

"Okay." Harry rested his head on Draco's shoulder, and Draco felt himself falling into sleep.

The next morning the shrill voice of Dobby woke him out of a pleasant dream. He had just enough presence of mind to remind Harry to tell the house-elf not to go into the room that held Mrs. Black's portrait. Having a little help around the place was going to be a marvelous thing; Dobby even remembered that Draco preferred his eggs soft-boiled.

What almost made Draco lose his self-possession once again, though, was when Harry told Dobby to take Draco's commands as if they were Harry's own. Didn't Harry realize what that meant? Perhaps not, Draco realized as he finished eating. Harry hadn't grown up in a wizarding household, and his only close pureblood friends, the Weasleys, were too poor to own any house-elves. Giving another person full and equal authority over one was tantamount to marriage: something of which Harry was almost certainly unaware, so Draco resolved not to take Harry's gesture as demonstrating anything more than his generous nature and his ignorance of wizarding custom.

Draco made sure that Harry had the list of potion ingredients they would need – they had found only a few standard items in the house – and, once Harry had gone off to Diagon Alley, he showed Dobby which cellar room needed cleaning and also the room on the first floor that now contained Mrs. Black's portrait, telling the house-elf to stay out of that one. He, however, went in to see if there was anything more to be learned from his great-aunt Walburga.

"It's about time," she snapped as soon as Draco turned the frame outward again. "Don't you know that unless I'm properly hung on the wall, I am trapped here?"

"Yes, ma'am," Draco acknowledged. "I'm sorry, but for the time being it is necessary. I'm sure you can understand the need for discretion." He smiled at her, knowing that although overall he favored his father in appearance, his mouth was very much Black. As both a Black by birth and a Black by marriage, her pride in the family was greater even than that of Bellatrix or Narcissa.

She preened and said, "Yes, of course," when Draco smiled, though clearly she had no idea what he could mean. Asking her questions intended to discover whether there were any particularly significant Dark Magic items concealed in the house proved fruitless, unfortunately. From what Draco could tell, nearly everything with any magical use whatsoever had been removed, certainly anything potentially dangerous; the old lady lamented about having seen them taken by blood traitors in the past several years, despite Kreacher's best efforts to stop the thieves. It appeared that the house-elf had managed for a time to secrete a few items in his den in the kitchen, but that someone in the Order of the Phoenix had eventually found and removed them.

Mrs. Black carped at length about such matters. She needed only the occasional nod or sympathetic, "You don't say," from Draco to continue. Which was easy enough to do, but it was dreadfully dull listening to her rant on about the decline in behavior that she had witnessed in her time, beginning with her own ungrateful son whose actions were a betrayal of the purity of his lineage. A good deal of what she said reminded Draco of his parents' dinner-table conversation, when his father was feeling annoyed by the Ministry and blamed the policy changes on the growing prevalence of half-bloods and Muggle-borns in the bureaucracy, taking positions once reserved for those of pure wizarding blood.

It occurred to Draco to wonder, as he listened with growing impatience carefully concealed, if in fact there were enough remaining pureblood witches and wizards to _fill_ all those posts. He thought over the students he knew at Hogwarts. Even in Slytherin there were several who had recent Muggle ancestry, although none were actually Mudbloods or half-bloods. Of the Gryffindors, only three or four in Draco's year were pureblooded, and the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were little better.

Eventually Draco concluded that there was less to be learned from Mrs. Black's portrait than he and Harry had hoped would be the case. He waited until she had finished a tirade against the restrictions that the Ministry of Magic had put on certain types of transformation spells, then broke in to say that he had other urgent matters to attend to, and much to his regret would need to leave her isolated again, and would she like a drapery across her painting to enable her to rest? She rather grudgingly assented, so Draco found a shawl that had been left in one of the bureau drawers and carefully hung it over the front of the frame before turning it to lean against the bedpost. Then he went down to see if Dobby had prepared lunch, and if Harry was back yet.

He was just beginning on a helping of cottage pie when Harry returned laden with packages that he refused Draco's help in putting away, saying that they'd do so after they ate.

"You were right, by the way," Harry said as he sat down.

"Right? About what?" Draco couldn't think what Harry might be talking about.

"About having Dobby come here to work for me. For us."

Hearing Harry say "us" so casually – especially hearing him correct himself to say it – made Draco's face hot. "Thanks. I, ah, never thought I'd hear you say I was right about anything," he added to explain his embarrassment.

"Was I _that_ much of a git at Hogwarts?" Now Harry was flushing too.

"Yeah, but so was I, and I didn't have as much reason." Draco thought about it. "If I hadn't been so much at odds with Weasley, maybe you and I would have been friends long ago."

"We are now, and that's what counts." Harry dropped his fork and reached across the table to take Draco's hand. His skin was warm and dry, his touch reassuring.

"Even if we don't stay together," Draco stopped himself from saying "as lovers," sure that Harry would still reject anything so official. Instead he simply finished, "After you've done what you have to do about You-Know-who, I hope we'll stay friends?"

He was glad to have said it without letting the burning need he felt show through in his voice, and even gladder when Harry answered, "We will," squeezing Draco's hand again.

When Harry asked if Mrs. Black's portrait had been helpful, Draco told him that she hadn't, explaining that she only seemed obsessed with blood purity and the freedom to do any kind of magic without Ministry oversight, and didn't really appear to have been more than a passive supporter of Voldemort. "Her ideas are a lot like my father's, really."

"Except that your father became a Death Eater, and your aunt too." Harry's eyes flashed.

"I know that!" said Draco in exasperation. "Don't blame me for what they did. I was raised to believe those ideas too, but I'm working against You-Know-Who now, aren't I? Be fair, Harry." He didn't want to argue with Harry, but he wasn't going to let the assumption pass that valuing family and ancestry made a person automatically prone to be evil. Holding his breath, he waited to see how Harry would respond.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, much to Draco's relief. Sometime they should have a long talk about these things, but he wasn't prepared for it now.

"Okay. Um." Draco cast around for a change of topic. "Dobby's cleaned up that cellar room, I think – you want to start trying some of those potions today, right?"

Together they began brewing a total of five different potions that afternoon, and actually completed the simplest one. In between, they unpacked the parcels Harry had brought back from Diagon Alley – all except for one, which Harry wouldn't let Draco look at and instead took away upstairs, still wrapped in its brown paper. He had brought more Muggle money for Draco, too, and Draco thought that perhaps they should go pick up some more wine or something. A Butterbeer sounded good but he'd forgotten to suggest it to Harry, and it wasn't as if Harry could have carried much more anyway. A Muggle off-license it would have to be.

When the Dissolving Draught was ready, Harry brought out the Horcrux and stood swinging it from the chain, looking apprehensive.

"Just try," said Draco softly, and grasped Harry's other hand with his own. He hoped for Harry's sake that this would work, although success on the first attempt was unlikely. The locket indeed emerged unscathed. "One of the others will work, I'm sure," he said as cheerfully as he could.

"Yeah." The response was discouraged. "At least tomorrow at the Burrow I can tell Hermione what we've done so far. Maybe she'll have more suggestions." Harry seemed to brighten up at that thought.

"Should I go along, do you think?"

"Go? Of course. The Burrow's safe, not like Diagon Alley where there could be Death Eaters looking for you. And we can try the _Permutatio_ spell on your Dark Mark again – I want you to be safe from Voldemort's summons." Harry's voice was serious.

"I know." Draco put his arm around Harry, holding him tight. "I appreciate that you're concerned for my safety, even if sometimes I'm not happy about the restrictions."

"You'd do the same for me."

Draco gazed at Harry's face. "Yes, I would," he said simply. Even without the Unbreakable Vow, he would do anything to keep Harry safe, alive and well.

Before dinner they went out to buy wine, and beer as well at Harry's request. They shared most of a bottle of Chianti as they ate, and afterward, Harry made Draco sit in the library. "Just wait here, and I'll tell you to close your eyes in a few minutes," he said, going out of the room.

This would have something to do with that unopened parcel Harry had brought back, Draco was sure of it. Harry was so obvious sometimes. He leaned on his elbow and waited.

"Are they closed?" Harry called from behind him.

"Yes, now," said Draco, making a show of putting his hands over his eyes to guarantee his words. He felt Harry's weight on the sofa next to him, and then something being put on his knees.

"All right, open."

"A... Gobstones set." Draco was slightly taken aback. Touched that Harry had brought him a gift, yes, but Gobstones? A little childish, wasn't it? "Ah... thank you."

"I know it's sort of silly, but I like to play even though I'm not very good. I didn't get to play many games when I was small, only when my cousin was ill and not allowed to see any of his friends, then he played with me... and I learned quickly that I'd better lose. Wizarding games are more fun than Muggle ones anyhow," Harry explained. "So I hoped you wouldn't think it was beneath you to play."

Put that way, how could Draco refuse? He looked at the set and had a sudden thought. "Tell you what. We could play for forfeits. Loser does whatever the winner asks for, within reason of course." He caught Harry's eye and licked his lips, suggesting the kind of forfeit he had in mind; he also refilled their glasses. A bit of alcohol wouldn't hurt when it came to lowering inhibitions.

"Oh." Harry's eyes widened, and he grinned. "Sure. I've never played like that before, but sure."

They set up the game on the library table and began. Harry had spoken no more than the truth in saying that he wasn't very good; he had lost the first game within minutes.

"Shall we pay our forfeits as we go, or do you want to keep a tally?" Harry asked when it was over.

Draco pondered. Either would do, but... "As we go," he decided. "So, for your first forfeit, I think I want you to strip down. Completely."

"The chair's cold," Harry pointed out, but he stood and started taking his clothes off.

"Cast a warming spell," Draco shrugged, watching Harry's body emerge from the cotton and wool that had concealed creamy skin dusted with dark hairs. He felt his cock twitch at the sight. Gobstones was much more fun this way.

In a moment of inattention, trying to decide what to claim for Harry's next forfeit, Draco made a strategic error that resulted in Harry winning, to both of their surprise.

"I guess I want the same forfeit from you," Harry said. "No more clothes."

Not terribly imaginative, but probably a good first step. Draco rose and began to undress. Harry watched just as intently as Draco had earlier, and Draco could see that Harry found it exciting, too. He took another drink.

"Want to keep playing, or stop now?" he asked.

"Let's keep on," Harry answered. "Maybe I'll get lucky and win again."

"Don't count on it, Potter," Draco warned in a mock-serious tone. "I was once the runner-up in the All-Britain Under-Elevens Gobstones Championship, when I was eight."

"But were you ever the champion?" Harry countered.

"Nope. I beat her in a private match five months later, and after that I knew I was the best and didn't bother entering again." Draco smiled, remembering his defeat of Daisy Runcorn with the same warm triumph he had felt back then. "You move first."

This time he did not let himself be distracted, and won again handily.

"What forfeit do you want?" Harry picked up his glass and drank in thirsty gulps. He had overdone it on the warming spell; his skin was rosy-pink now and a drop of sweat beaded up on his forehead, sliding past his ear and down his neck, stopping where the skin changed texture at his nipple.

Draco decided to move things along. "I want you to wank yourself during the next game... but slowly. Don't come, just jerk off while I watch and we play." He grinned slyly. That ought to ensure that Harry would be unable to concentrate, and thereby lose again.

Harry either didn't realize the probable result or didn't care, because he only looked disconcerted, he didn't protest that the forfeit was unfair. His left hand went over his prick in a protective gesture. "Are you sure?" he asked plaintively.

"Oh yes. Go on, wank for me." Draco moved his chair over a little to get a better view. Harry gave himself a few strokes, then raised his hand and spat into it.

"Too dry." He wrapped his fingers around his cock again and began to pull at it slowly, his eyes intent on Draco's. His cheeks were flaming scarlet, but he said almost defiantly, "Is this what you want?"

Draco swallowed. He was hard and aching, just watching, and he had to focus to keep his hands from shaking as he reset the board. "That's what I want. Play – use your other hand."

As expected, Harry lost this round even more rapidly than the first one. In an unsteady voice he asked, "What's the forfeit?"

Standing, Draco moved the few feet to Harry's chair. "You can stop touching yourself now." He straddled Harry and sat down on his thighs, pressing against his belly. Draco leaned forward to breathe into Harry's ear, "I'd really like this up my arse."

He heard Harry swallow. "You want me to fuck you?"

Draco drew back a little and saw the look of total panic on Harry's face. "I'd like it. But we agreed that the forfeits should be within reason. If you _really_ don't want to, I'll give you an alternative."

"What's that?" Harry sounded wary.

"You get to make yourself come, but with two fingers inside you. Yours or mine, either one."

Harry gulped again. "Um. All right. Yours."

"_Accio_ oil." Spells for lubricating were never entirely satisfactory, Draco thought. Miles had had some Muggle gel that worked wonderfully, but Draco wasn't sure where or how he'd acquired it. Blaise and Draco had used ordinary cooking oil, borrowed from the Hogwarts kitchens, once or twice – tonight that was far better than nothing, since Draco had had no chance to investigate wizarding salves.

The bottle smacked into his upraised hand and Draco let a smile creep over his face. "This will help. Squat down – no, get on your knees and brace against the chair with one hand." He tipped out a hasty palmful of the oil and slicked his fingers well. He moved slowly, gently, until Harry whimpered and opened himself further. "Come on, Harry, come..." Draco urged, and Harry cried out. Draco murmured a cleaning spell and wrapped his arms around Harry, who turned and kissed him, sucking at his lips and tongue as if he were starved for it.

When Draco leaned back to look at Harry, the other boy's eyes were half-lidded and his lips flushed and swollen. "Draco... oh, Draco." He shook his head. "That..."

"Shh." Draco kissed him again. "One more game?"

"I'm not sure what more I could forfeit," said Harry, his tone rueful.

"Maybe you'll win," Draco said lightly. In fact, he had already half-decided that he might just play to lose this time... he was curious what Harry might ask of him.

"Maybe." Harry scrubbed a hand across his face. "All right. One more."

Draco was careful not to make it obvious that he was throwing the game. He simply made one or two small but strategically important mistakes and didn't get theatrical about bemoaning his foolishness, either. Harry's face was intent as he bent over the board, and Draco found that watching Harry, still naked, was distracting enough that he might have lost regardless. Upon Harry's victory, he shook his head, saying, "Should have stopped while I was ahead, shouldn't I?"

"Probably. Although really I'm not sure what to ask for your forfeit." Harry bit his lip. "Does it have to be sexual?"

"Of course not, if you don't want it to be." said Draco, wondering what else Harry might have in mind. "Just as long as it's something within reason."

"I know _that_." Harry sounded irritated. "Give me some credit." He stared at Draco for a moment, his expression measuring. "For your forfeit I want you to really work with Hermione tomorrow to alter the Mark as much as possible. I understand how much it must hurt you," he added sympathetically. "It must be like when I feel Voldemort through my scar. But I want... I really want you to be free of him," he finished in a rush.

Draco struggled to keep calm. He dreaded the pain; he didn't really believe that Harry could understand what it felt like. Granted, Harry had survived _Avada Kedavra_, but that was when he was a baby, he couldn't possibly remember, and as far as Draco knew Harry had never experienced a _Crucio_. But it was a reasonable forfeit, he had to admit that, especially since he would have had to do it anyway – just perhaps not so much, all in one day.

"All right," he muttered, looking down at the board. "If that's what you really want me to do."

"It is." Harry started to pick up the Gobstones and put them back in the box. Draco handed some to him. "You're not mad, are you?" Harry asked tentatively when they were all put away.

"No." He wasn't, he was sure of that. He tried to put on a more pleasant expression.

"Good, because I wouldn't want to go to bed with you mad at me." Harry closed the lid and pushed the box over to Draco, then stood up. "Come here."

Between the distraction of the game and the dismay of the forfeit, Draco's arousal had mostly dissipated. He pushed back his chair and went over to Harry, holding himself stiffly as Harry put his arms around him.

"Draco... you are mad, I can tell. Or at least annoyed." Harry's breath was warm against Draco's neck as he sighed. "Let's go upstairs. I want to tell you something, something important, but I'd rather be comfortable while I'm talking."

Note: a more explicit version of this chapter is available at my website.


	31. Upstairs in Grimmauld Place

**31. Upstairs in Grimmauld Place**

"And these." Harry set the beer he had chosen down on the counter, and Draco nodded to the man behind it.

"Those too."

After carefully counting the Muggle coins he had been given in change and stowing them in his pocket, Draco picked up the four bottles of Chianti and tucked two under each arm. Harry carried the rest. It was only a few minutes' walk in the drizzle back to Grimmauld Place, and Harry spent them trying to decide how to give Draco his gift. After dinner, he concluded – he'd have Draco close his eyes, and then put the set of Gobstones in front of him, since he didn't have any way to wrap the parcel first.

Eating dinner and laughing, talking about the potions they had in progress, nearly made Harry forget the failure of his first attempt to destroy the Horcrux. He wasn't able to ignore the outside world completely, however. Draco's sleeve slipped up his arm as he gestured with his fork, the edge of the Mark showing. Harry shivered.

"You're not cold, are you?" Draco asked.

A year ago, if Draco had asked that question in such a tone, Harry would have assumed he meant it as a sneer. _Oh, look at Potter, thinks he's so great and catches cold in a bit of rain._ Tonight, it only sounded solicitous, as if Draco were really concerned that he might be ill.

"No, I'm not cold," he replied, pushing his empty plate aside. Dobby had apologized for not having anything for their pudding tonight except biscuits, but Harry had assured him that he'd rather have the rooms they were using not an inch deep in dust than have fancy sweets with the meal. He liked biscuits anyway. "But I'm finished. If you are, too, let's go to the library."

Draco licked the tip of his finger and dabbed up a final few ginger-biscuit crumbs, smiling. "All right." He rolled his eyes when Harry told him to sit on the sofa and wait, and close his eyes when asked. It was evident that Draco had guessed what was up, Harry thought as he hurried to the cupboard in which he had temporarily hidden the parcel. He just hoped Draco would like it.

"It's a Gobstones set," said Draco in a neutral voice when he opened his eyes. "Ah... thanks. I don't think I've played since I was nine years old."

Disappointed, and angry with himself for feeling so, Harry explained, "I know it's a bit childish, but I like to play though I'm not very good. I never had a chance to play many games when I was small; my cousin wouldn't play with me if he had any choice, so... I still like them. I hoped you wouldn't think it was too silly to enjoy, just the two of us."

He could see Draco's face screwed up in thought, then relaxing. "How about this? We could play for forfeits. The winner chooses something for the loser to do, within reason naturally." Draco took a sip of wine and licked his lips deliberately, holding Harry's gaze. Harry would have had to be a fool not to guess what sort of forfeit he had in mind.

"Oh." Within reason, Draco had said. That seemed safe enough. "Sure. I've never played for forfeits, but why not?"

Why not was demonstrated by the rapidity with which he lost the first game and had to wipe smelly Gobstone fluid from his face, sputtering. "You didn't say. Shall we pay the forfeits as we go, or keep a tally to settle at the end?"

"As we go," said Draco, smirking. "I wouldn't want to leave you in suspense. And for this first one," he looked Harry over, "I want you to strip down completely."

"My bum'll get cold on the wooden chair," Harry complained, but he was only half-serious. Stripping didn't seem too bad a forfeit, although if he was asked to get naked so quickly, he did wonder what else Draco might have in mind.

"You can cast a warming spell," Draco reminded him, which Harry did before sitting back down. It helped, but he still felt rather strange being naked when Draco was fully dressed. Especially since Draco kept stealing glances at him as they played.

When, rather to his surprise, he beat Draco in their second game his imagination failed him and he told Draco to strip as well. Draco's movements as he undressed were unhurried, and he kept his eyes on Harry the whole time. Harry felt his face grow warm. Somehow it seemed much more erotic than he had thought it would, to watch as one piece of clothing after another fell to the floor. Draco lifted his wineglass; the movement of his throat as he swallowed reminded Harry of how it felt to have that mouth wrapped around him, and he was glad that he was sitting close enough to the table that Draco couldn't see how quickly he had grown hard.

"Want to stop, or to keep playing?" Draco asked.

"Might as well keep on; maybe I'll get lucky again," said Harry, trying to be casual about it.

"Don't count on that, Potter." Draco gave a mocking smile and explained that at age eight he had taken second place in the All-Britain Under-Elevens Gobstones Championship, and having beaten the winner privately several months later, he hadn't even bothered competing for the prize the following year.

Harry was impressed despite himself – _he_ had never won so much as third place in a footrace in primary school – and sufficiently distracted by Draco's bare skin that he made a strategic error which allowed Draco to trounce him once more. Knowing that Draco really was skilled at Gobstones made it less humiliating than it might have been, but he still felt himself flush with embarrassment at his rapid defeat. To hide it, he picked up his glass and drank thirstily. Was it the presence of Draco naked that made him feel so warm? He was positively sweating.

"What do you want as forfeit this time?"

Draco's grin was knowing, almost sly. "I want you to jerk yourself off as we play the next round. Move your chair so I can watch, but don't let yourself come."

"Are you sure?" Harry was taken aback, but at Draco's nod, he started to fist himself. "Like this? Is this what you want?" He forced himself to meet Draco's eyes, trying to pretend nonchalance. Watching Draco watch him was nearly unbearable – in a good way. It took all of Harry's concentration not to come, with the result that he lost the fourth game within moments. As, he suddenly realized, Draco had doubtless planned he would do. Bastard. Harry looked at Draco helplessly. What more could he possibly demand? "And the forfeit?"

Draco stood and came over to Harry's chair, straddling his legs and then sitting on them. "You can stop wanking now. What I'd really like is to have you in my arse."

Harry's first impulse was to shout, "No!" He suppressed the urge. They'd said the forfeits would be reasonable... and why was he panicking? It wasn't as if Draco had said he wanted to fuck Harry, which would be a rather more intimidating idea. But the thought of it seemed dirty and intimate and altogether more than he was comfortable with. Besides, he was awfully close to coming. What if he couldn't last? Draco might laugh... Harry swallowed hard.

"You want me to fuck you?" His voice shook.

"I'd _like_ that. If you really don't want to, I'll let you come by wanking instead – but with two fingers inside you, either yours or mine. That's the alternative."

Harry had experimented with that himself a few times, safely behind his bed curtains at Hogwarts. Why it seemed less worrisome to have Draco's fingers in his arse than to have his prick there Harry wasn't sure, but it did. Maybe because he wouldn't be able to watch Harry while he was doing it. "Um. All right, yours."

He was glad when Draco _Accio_'d some oil to use, however, and knelt down, leaning against the chair to tug himself off.

"Relax," said Draco, "and I promise it'll be good." As Draco touched him, Harry's fist slid over his cock faster and harder, but it wasn't until Draco said, "Come for me, Harry," that the release shuddered through him.

Draco's arms were around him now and Harry turned to face him. Instead of words that would be inadequate to how he felt, all he could do was to say Draco's name, over and over, in between hungry kisses. When he had calmed down a little, Draco asked, "One more game?"

"What more could I possibly forfeit, after that?"

"You might win," Draco pointed out.

"Maybe." It seemed unlikely, although now that Harry was relaxed and Draco still quiveringly aroused – Harry could feel the pulse of blood in Draco's cock where it pressed against his own flesh – perhaps there was a chance. "All right, if you want. Just one more."

The final game was the closest of their contests; piece by piece Harry fought for the win. He felt Draco's eyes on him as he leaned over the board, but pushed away all extraneous thoughts to play the game as best he could. The effort paid off.

"Should have stopped while I was ahead," said Draco, charming himself clean of the Gobstone slime.

"Looks like it." Harry hesitated. He knew what he wanted to claim as his forfeit now, but he wasn't sure it was appropriate. "Does... does the forfeit have to be sexual?"

"Not if you don't want it to be. It just has to be something within reason," said Draco with a curious expression on his face.

"I know _that_." Honestly, sometimes Draco seemed to think Harry was still a first-year student. But this wasn't going to be something Draco would be expecting, or happy about. "I want... for your forfeit I really want you to cooperate willingly with Hermione tomorrow to alter the Dark Mark, even get rid of it if she can in one day," he said in a rush. "I know it'll hurt, I've felt Voldemort through my scar and it must be similar. But I want you to be free of him for good."

Draco looked horrified; his right hand jerked involuntarily to cover as much of the Mark as possible. "All right." His voice was sullen, almost harsh. "If that's what you really want, I will."

"It is. It means a lot to me that you agreed." Harry began to put the game away. Draco passed him several pieces, his expression frozen and unhappy.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" Harry snapped the lid closed and handed him the box.

"No."

He sounded it, though, even judging by the single word.

"I wouldn't want to go to bed with you mad at me," Harry said quietly. "Come here." He held Draco close for a moment, feeling him stiff and resisting the embrace, then sighed. "Let's go up to our room. I want to tell you something important, but I'd like to be comfortable when I do it."

He picked up the pile of his clothes and stooped for Draco's as well.

"I'll get those." Draco took them from Harry's hands and started walking out of the room. "What do...? No, you'll tell me when we're in bed."

Harry cleaned his teeth quickly and paused over whether or not to put on his pyjamas. Wearing them would make him feel less vulnerable, but perhaps that was a reason not to, under the circumstances. He glanced at Draco, who had pulled on the green t-shirt that Harry had bought him to wear as a nightshirt the evening they had stayed at the Grangers'. It seemed much longer ago than ten days, somehow. The shirt came down to mid-thigh and Draco's long pale legs, only lightly scattered with golden hairs, stuck out below. His knees and feet were knobbly, quite different from the smooth elegance of his usual appearance when clothed. Abruptly Harry realized that he was staring and turned away, deciding to put on his pyjamas after all.

"So what important thing did you want to tell me?" asked Draco after they had climbed under the covers.

"A couple of things, actually." Harry took a deep breath. "First, I honestly do know what I'm asking you to go through to get the Mark off, or altered enough that it can't be used to summon you. I'm pretty sure I do. Um. Have you ever had someone hit you with the Cruciatus Curse?"

"No." Draco shook his head.

"Well, I have." Harry's mind flinched away from the memory, but he forced himself to go on. "The night Voldemort was restored, he used it on me. It felt as if my bones had turned into fire inside my body... I can't even describe the agony." He glanced down at his hands, clenched so hard into fists that the nails bit into the palms – he hadn't even felt the sting. "It can't be worse than that, I don't think. And you know Hermione will stop whenever you need, to let you recover a bit."

Draco was looking at him with mingled awe and wariness. "You stood up to the Cruciatus Curse when you were only fourteen."

"Yeah. And then he fought me, a wizard's duel. I barely managed to escape... and I had to bring Cedric's body back. That was almost as hard as fighting," said Harry. "So what I'm saying is that I saw how you reacted when Hermione was casting the _Permutatio_ spell the other day. I _do_ understand how bad it might be for you, and I'm... I have a lot of respect for you that you're willing to try."

"Right." Draco gave a funny little laugh. "I'll try. If you'll be there too."

"Of course I will, if you want me," said Harry, surprised. "I thought maybe you'd rather not have anyone to see you."

"Hermione will be there anyway, casting the spell," Draco said. "I wouldn't want Ron around, or any of the rest of them, but you... I'll need you, Harry." He rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow to look at Harry, grey eyes dark.

Harry nodded. "I'll stay with you," he promised.

"Thanks." The word fell quietly into the space between them. "So. You said there were a couple of things you wanted to tell me. What's the other?"

"I wanted to talk to you about Ginny." Harry paused, trying to marshal his thoughts, and Draco waited for him to speak, only a twitch in the muscles along his jaw indicating any apprehension.

"I love her," he said at last. "I couldn't stand it if she were hurt in any way. That's why I broke up with her at the end of term." He stared at Draco, who looked confused.

"But if you..."

"Too many people knew about how I felt, you see," Harry cut him off, anxious to finish explaining. "All of Hogwarts. _You_ knew. Snape knew. One way or another, Voldemort was going to have heard that I was going out with Ginny Weasley. And he'd possessed her once already, through his diary. Well, you know about that. She's vulnerable, and she makes me vulnerable; it would be easy for him to use her as a way to hurt me or get leverage over me, by threatening her. The only thing I could do to lessen that threat to both of us was to break up," said Harry.

"I understand," Draco said slowly. "So if... _when_... you defeat him for good, then you'll go back to her, is that what you're telling me?" His face was expressionless and he didn't move, yet it was as if he had withdrawn somewhere distant.

"No!" Harry protested. "I mean yes, that _was_ what I intended to do, which Ginny understood, and accepted. But now, no." Harry bit his lip. "Now I... I'd rather be with you," he finished in a rush. "But the problem is, you're vulnerable too, with the Mark, and also because to Voldemort you're a weakling, a traitor. I'm sure the Death Eaters will have no qualms about trying to take you down, whatever services your father might have performed in the past. At least almost no one knows how I feel about you... just us, and Hermione because she guessed."

"Hermione knows," agreed Draco. "I think Mrs. Weasley too, though I'm not sure how. Hermione told me she probably did. And you might be surprised to hear me say it, but Ginny isn't exactly an idiot and she might well have figured it out." He made a face. "If she hasn't yet, I expect she will soon, no matter how discreet we try to be. If she loves you she's bound to notice a difference in how you act towards her, and towards me."

"Yeah," sighed Harry. Draco was doubtless right about Ginny... though the idea that Molly Weasley had guessed his feelings for Draco made him more than a little uncomfortable. She had treated him like a son all these years, and he'd rather thought she approved of his relationship with Ginny; although, come to think of it, she hadn't given a hint of either happiness or disappointment. Moreover, polite as the senior Weasleys had been to Draco when he and Harry were at the Burrow, there were enough years of bad blood between them and the Malfoy family that Harry found it improbable that they would be glad if he and Draco were an item.

Cautiously Harry looked at Draco. An item. He had just thought of them as a couple, as he used to do with Ginny, and he wasn't entirely sure if he liked the way he had done so almost reflexively. Draco himself, well, Harry was quite happy to do whatever kinds of fooling around Draco might suggest – well, a lot of them at least – or even just sit and talk as they were doing now. But his family... to say that the Malfoys were unsympathetic was to laughably understate the matter in Harry's opinion. Whereas the Weasleys were just nice to be around, friendly, all of them but Percy at any rate. Oh, the twins could be right prats sometimes with their practical jokes, but they weren't vicious.

Draco seemed to be waiting for Harry to say something more.

"Anyhow," said Harry awkwardly, "whether Mrs. Weasley and Ginny know or not, it's still only a few people who do. It's not _public_. So I don't have the same worry that if Voldemort caught you he might torture you specifically to force me to act a certain way... and that's a relief for me, really it is."

"He'd torture me in any case," Draco said, "so I don't see that it matters much why. Unless you'd leave me to it if he weren't threatening you with what he might do to me?"

Harry struggled to explain more clearly. "It's not that I wouldn't feel awful if that happened, and wouldn't try to rescue you. Because I would, of course I would. But he wouldn't be using you against me on purpose. Does that make any sense? The pressure to help you would be just my own wishes, not forced from the outside. anyway, if we can get the Mark off or altered enough, that might protect you more as well."

"I suppose I understand." The words were slow, thoughtful. Draco had curled up in a ball and wide grey eyes looked at Harry from under a shock of pale hair. "That means that we'd both better be careful to keep – _us_ – as much of a secret as possible, hadn't we? Hermione and the Weasley women may be trustworthy, but until You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters are defeated altogether, they'd better not have any clue." Draco gave a sudden sharp laugh, but when Harry asked why, the other boy refused to answer.

The reasons for remaining discreet might be irrefutable, safety being perhaps the most pressing, but Harry was secretly pleased for the excuse. He might have begun to accept the idea that their mutual feelings might be significantly more than lust backed up by a modicum of friendship, but that didn't mean he wanted anyone else to know if he could help it. Not yet, anyway. He wasn't sure himself if it was more because Draco was a _bloke_ or because he was a _Malfoy_, and maybe it didn't really matter all that much which.

"Anything else, since this is apparently the night for confessions?" Draco's question broke into Harry's thoughts.

"Not that I can think of. Nothing important right now anyhow," said Harry. "Was there something _you_ wanted to tell _me_?"

Red spots bloomed on Draco's cheeks, but he denied having anything to say. "One of us has to go down to the cellar at two in the morning to add hellebore to that third potion," he reminded Harry instead. "I'll do it if you like."

"Would you?" Harry yawned, suddenly feeling exhausted. He had meant to suggest that they could mess around a bit – Draco had gotten him off back in the library, and he hadn't reciprocated – but maybe it would be better to wait, be less tired.

Draco nodded. "I don't mind." He wriggled down between the sheets. "I think I'll get a couple of good hours in first though."

Harry woke, thrashing, the sheet tangled around him. His heart was pounding as if he had just run up from the Potions classroom all the way to the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts, and Draco wasn't there, snoring softly next to him. After a moment Harry remembered that Draco must be working on the potions for the Horcrux downstairs. He considered going down himself, but decided it might seem as if he didn't trust Draco to tend them properly, so he waited with mounting impatience until he heard the creak of a floorboard in the hallway and Draco slipped back into their room.

"Harry?" Draco must have seen him sitting up, silhouetted against the headboard. "What's wrong?"

"I... had a nightmare," said Harry, almost too embarrassed to admit it. If he hadn't worried that he might dream it again, and maybe hit Draco by accident, flailing around, before he woke up, he would have kept quiet about the whole thing.

"What about?" asked Draco. Although he had been walking barefoot, his feet were warm when he slid back into the bed and moved close to Harry.

"Voldemort, what else? I dreamed that I thought I'd destroyed all the Horcruxes, and went after him, but he must have made more than Dumbledore thought. He stood there and laughed and I couldn't touch him, all the hexes and things I tried just bounced off. Then he started threatening to destroy everyone I loved and cared about. And they were all there, everyone, Ron and Hermione, Ginny, all the Weasleys and even Percy, Neville and Dean and Seamus, Professor Lupin, Tonks... and you. You were right up front, right where he could see you."

"I was?" Draco put his arms around Harry.

"Mm hm." Harry shuddered involuntarily. "And Voldemort started hurling curses, and people began to scream... and then I woke up, and you weren't here."

"It's all right, it wasn't real. It was only a nightmare." Harry was grateful that Draco hadn't laughed at him for acting such a baby, frightened of a dream. A dream never hurt anyone. He said as much, and heard Draco suck in a breath.

"Not true, Harry," Draco said at last. "It depends. There are ways to make what a person dreams seem so real that they wake up with the physical imprint of it on their bodies."

"That's _horrible_," said Harry vehemently. "Surely that's against wizarding law?"

"It's not. It can be used for good purposes as well as bad – some of the healers at St. Mungo's use the technique, I've heard. And there are... other uses too." Draco's head moved against Harry's shoulder, and Harry realized the other boy was grinning.

"Oh. _Oh._" A crowd of images made their way into Harry's mind, some of them quite... disturbing.

"All those Muggle legends of incubi and succubi had to have their origins somewhere," Draco observed. He did not sound bothered by it at all.

"I suppose so," said Harry, but he still thought it odd that there was evidently no Ministry regulation of such spell-casting.

The reason became clear when Draco sat up and said, "It's very difficult to do, though, and most of the time the result isn't going to be worth the effort. I'd bet that the wizards who've duped Muggles into believing they've been seduced by a demon got off on it themselves somehow, but even so, there'd be easier ways. If you were after an enemy, attacking them in their sleep like that is rather an indirect way of doing it. There's lots of other possibilities, including some that would also keep you anonymous to your victim."

Harry found Draco's calm discussion of enemies and victims and attacks disconcerting. He'd lived through too much of that to take it with such aplomb. "This was just a nightmare, though," he muttered. "I don't think Voldemort had any hand in it... it's just nervousness."

"I expect you're right." Draco reached out and brushed the fringe back from Harry's forehead. "Your scar hasn't been hurting you, has it?"

"No. Actually that's surprising. I haven't sensed anything from him at all, or had the scar hurt since before I went to Godric's Hollow." Harry frowned. "I wonder why not?"

"How long before?"

"Since..." Harry thought about it. "Since about the time Dumbledore died, I suppose. I'm not sure exactly. The connection always seemed to ebb and flow, sometimes it was quite weak, and I just don't remember for certain. You'd think I'd've felt his triumph when he learned that his greatest enemy was defeated."

"Dumbledore _wasn't_ his greatest enemy, though. You are; you're figuring out ways to kill him. But I'm sure tonight wasn't anything but a nightmare. If _he_ were practicing dream magic on you... well, let's just say that you'd be in a lot worse shape than you are. Besides, I don't think it's actually possible to cast those spells from a very long distance. He'd have to know where you were, and this house is too well hidden." Draco's voice was reassuring, and he patted Harry's shoulder comfortingly. "Come here." Reversing their roles from earlier that evening, he pulled Harry into an embrace.

It was nice to lie there with Draco's arms wrapped around him. Too close for sleep, maybe – Harry usually slept better with room to move, although that had its drawbacks as well. He could smell some of the herbs Draco had been adding to the brewing potions. Mostly good scents, those were, overlaying the tangy-salty aroma of Draco's own skin.

"Thanks," he said, muffled, into Draco's neck. Again he had a fleeting thought that he might suggest having sex, but after that dream he really wasn't in the right mood. Instead he just let Draco stroke him, long slow movements from his head all the way down his spine, and tried to let the fear go. Tomorrow they would return to the Burrow, and Hermione would work on removing Draco's Mark, and perhaps she or one of the Weasleys would have suggestions for making a more effective potion to destroy the Horcrux.

"Sleep," Draco was murmuring. "Sh. Just sleep. You're safe here, and so am I. Sh. Sleep."

Note: a somewhat more explicit version of this chapter is available at my website.


	32. The Burrow, Again

**32. The Burrow, Again**

If Harry had something significant to say, Draco wished he would just say it and get it over with. Having been so aroused and left unsatisfied, and then having been asked to cooperate in something that he knew was going to be almost intolerably painful, had left Draco irritated and resentful. He yanked off his clothes and tossed them aside, not even bothering to see that they fell into the hamper, and then pulled the green t-shirt over his head. Tonight he didn't want to be bare in front of Harry, even if the alternative was to wear the shirt that Harry had bought him. Had there been another room with a bed made up, he thought, he might even have gone to sleep there instead.

"So what is it that you have to tell me that is so important?" he asked when Harry had finally finished cleaning his teeth and putting on his pyjamas. Draco found himself obscurely angry that Harry was wearing them, but he could not exactly object.

"There's a couple of things." Harry leaned on one elbow, watching Draco as he spoke. "For one, I do actually know what I'm asking you to go through to remove the Mark."

Draco wanted to protest, "No, you don't," but the words died on his lips as Harry continued.

"Voldemort used the Cruciatus Curse on me, the night he returned. I can hardly describe it – it felt as if my bones were on fire inside my body." Harry's face was pinched at the memory, his attention focused inward. "I can't believe removing the Mark could be any worse, and Hermione will stop any time you need a break to recover a bit."

"You were only fourteen, and you withstood the Cruciatus Curse." Draco spoke the words with reluctant admiration. He had no doubt but that Harry was telling the truth, though Lucius Malfoy had certainly never mentioned _that_ when he had spoken of Voldemort's return. His resentment faded; it was difficult to justify it, seeing Harry like this. Harry _knew_.

"Yeah." Harry looked almost embarrassed. "After that he fought me in a wizard's duel, and when I managed to escape, I had to bring Cedric's body back with me. That was nearly as hard to bear as _Crucio_, in its way." He drew in a breath, then said, "I saw how you reacted to the _Permutatio_ – it must have been pretty bad. I... I have a lot of respect for you, that you're willing to keep on with it."

"Right." Draco couldn't get the image of Harry with Cedric's body out of his head. He wondered if he'd been wrong, if it hadn't been Weasley who was the boy Harry had kissed before. Maybe it had been Diggory. Would Harry do the same for Draco, if there were ever a need for it? "I'll try." He couldn't endure less than Harry had, it would be unbecoming in a Malfoy. A half-laugh, half-sob escaped him. Not that anyone else would ever know or care about that. "I'll try, if you'll stay with me."

"Would you want me there? I thought you might prefer it to be private."

"Hermione will have to be there to cast the spell anyway, and I wouldn't want anyone else, but... I'll need you, Harry." If Harry were there, Draco would remember that it was possible to endure the Cruciatus Curse, that it was worth the pain to remove the Mark. He hoped. Just now all he could remember was that pain as he looked at Harry, silently willing him to agree.

"I'll stay with you, then."

"Thanks." Draco bit his lip. "You had something else to tell me?"

He hadn't thought there could be a worse topic, but Harry said, "I wanted to talk to you about Ginny."

Oh, Merlin. Gritting his teeth, Draco waited, and the words he'd dreaded came.

"I love her." The sentence echoed in Draco's head, but Harry hadn't finished. "I couldn't stand it if she were hurt, so I broke up with her."

That made no sense. "But if you..."

Harry spoke over Draco's confusion, explaining, "Everyone knew about us. Voldemort was bound to hear about it – I assumed Snape would tell him, if no one else had – and he'd already possessed her in second year, so it would be easy for him to threaten her and use that as leverage against me. All I could do to protect her from that was to break up."

Draco was sure he knew what Harry was trying to say. "So if... _when_ you defeat him, you'll go back to Ginny." It had all been nothing more than circumstance then, the two of them together in a tight situation, just a bit of fun on the run for Potter. Stupid of Draco to have hoped otherwise, to have thought it meant more than that. He was broken out of his self-castigating thoughts by Harry's voice.

"No! I did intend to, and Ginny understood. But not any more. I'd... I'd rather be with you, but you're vulnerable too. Voldemort must consider you a weakling at best, a traitor at worst. He'd torture or kill you if he had his hands on you, and I," Harry swallowed, "I couldn't stand that. Luckily he couldn't guess he could use you to threaten me. Only Hermione knows about us."

"Mrs. Weasley too," said Draco absently, recalling his talk with Hermione. "And Ginny Weasley isn't an idiot – yes, I can admit that, don't look at me as if I'd sprouted horns, my point is that she might have guessed as well. If she hasn't I'm sure she will sooner or later – she loves you, anyone can see that, and she's going to notice that you've changed toward her."

"Yeah." Harry seemed to be thinking about that; Draco wasn't sure if he had convinced him when Harry said, "Even if Ginny and her mother know, it's not like it's _public_ knowledge. I don't have to worry that if Voldemort caught you he might torture you specifically to try to get at me, and that's a relief."

"He'd torture me regardless, so I don't see that his motives matter much. Unless you're saying that you'd leave me to it if he _weren't_ using me to threaten you?" It wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to be caught, and if he were... Draco tried hard to keep the disquiet he felt from his voice.

Harry shot back, "Of _course_ I'd try to rescue you. But it would be because I wanted to, it wouldn't be a reaction to _him_. Does that make any sense? Plus, if we can get the Mark removed, or altered enough, that might protect you more as well."

"I understand," the words came slowly, as now it was relief that he tried to hide. Harry wouldn't leave him, Harry wanted to do everything he could to make sure Draco wasn't at any greater risk that was already the case. "We'd better keep – _us_ – a secret then. I hope the Weasleys and Hermione are trustworthy; until You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters are destroyed, best that they not have any clue." Except... Professor Snape might very well guess. It had been his idea that Draco go to Harry in the first place, and Draco knew that Snape was a skilled Legilimens – he could easily have read Draco's thoughts and realized how he felt about Harry any time in the past several years, and perhaps Snape had read Harry's, too, and seen something to suggest that Harry could reciprocate Draco's feelings. Damn. Draco couldn't keep back a brief bitter laugh. If Snape had guessed, there was nothing either of them could do about it now.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing." There was no point in telling Harry his suspicions. Maybe he was wrong, anyway, and he didn't fancy hearing Harry go off on a tirade about Snape. The man wasn't the most pleasant person, and he hadn't always been fair to Harry at Hogwarts – Draco was quite willing to concede that – but he _had_ helped save Draco's skin, and had been a friend of the Malfoy family since before Draco was born. Draco scrambled to find something to distract Harry's attention.

"Anything else to confess, since this is apparently the big night for it?"

"Not really. Unless there was something _you_ wanted to tell _me_?" Clear green eyes gazed at him questioningly.

There were a hundred things he wanted to say... and most of them would lay bare parts of himself that he did not want to reveal, not even to Harry. Not yet. Draco shook his head. Distract him. "No. Um. I just remembered, we need to add hellebore to that third potion at two o'clock exactly. I'll go down and do it if you like." Harry looked more tired than Draco felt, and they both knew Draco was better at potion-making anyway; Harry's performance in Professor Slughorn's class had to have been an aberration. Besides, Draco knew he'd be able to wake up sufficiently at that hour not to make some silly mistake like stirring clockwise instead of the reverse. "I really don't mind, I can get in a couple of hours' sleep first."

When he woke at a quarter of two, Harry was curled up in a ball, one hand resting against Draco's back. Cautiously Draco slipped out from under the covers; he didn't want to wake Harry, that was the whole point. Harry stirred and mumbled something that Draco couldn't quite hear, but then stilled again.

Halfway down to the cellar, Draco realized that he had forgotten to put anything on his feet. Oh, well, he'd cast a warming charm when he got there. And he'd be a bit more careful about it than Harry, or he'd end up dancing on the hot stones of the floor like a sausage in a frying pan.

Adding the hellebore was simple, just a matter of measuring the powdered root and stirring thirty-nine times counter-clockwise, as the recipe stipulated. Draco checked over the other potions while he was there. All of them looked right for this stage in their brewing; the next time any would need attention wouldn't be till after breakfast, and then they could be safely left all day while he and Harry were at the Weasleys'. Draco tried not to think about what would happen there. Just because he'd agreed to let Granger keep at him with the _Permutatio_ spell didn't mean he was looking forward to it. He tapped the thick greyish liquid off the spoon he'd been stirring with and laid it aside, then turned off the light before heading back to their room.

Dim moonlight shining through the thin curtains let him see Harry sitting up, huddled against the headboard, when he reached it. "Harry? What's wrong?" He had seemed soundly asleep when Draco left.

"I... I had a nightmare." Harry's voice was thin, shamed. If he was saying anything at all, the dream must have been something terrible. Draco found himself almost compelled to hurry over, slide into the bed beside Harry and reach out for him.

The Vow, he realized. _I swear I will do my best to help and protect you in any need._ Not that he wouldn't have wanted to help Harry in any case, but he couldn't avoid it even if he had. "What was it about?"

"Voldemort, who else? I was trying to curse him, but I hadn't destroyed all the Horcruxes and the hexes just bounced off. Then he started threatening everyone I cared about, they were all there, and you were right up front and the first person he aimed at. And the screams started and I... I woke up, and you were gone." His shaking body belied the tightness of his voice. Draco ran his hand flat along Harry's spine, trying to calm him.

"It's all right, it was only a nightmare, not real." Thankfully, because it _could_ have been real. Which he had to explain to Harry when Harry agreed, saying that dreams never actually hurt anyone. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Harry had been raised as a Muggle and didn't know a great deal of what Draco took for granted.

"They can," Draco said reluctantly. "There are ways to cause a dream to leave an actual physical imprint on your body when you wake."

"Surely that's illegal?" Harry sounded shocked, and he stiffened against Draco's arm. "It sounds like Dark Magic to me."

"It's not. Not illegal, either, because it can be used for all kinds of purposes. Sometimes healers at St. Mungo's use it. And there are effects that are enjoyable, even." He hadn't tried any of those himself, although Blaise claimed to have done so.

It took a moment for Harry to realize what Draco meant. "Oh!"

"But it's not that easy, though there have been some wizards who used it a lot. All those Muggle legends of incubi and succubi came from somewhere, after all, but there are easier ways to attack someone, even if you want to be sure it's anonymous." Draco could think of a half-dozen such methods himself, and he was certain that Voldemort must know far more.

"I don't think it was an attack, just a nightmare," Harry said. "Nervousness. You know." He was still shivering a little.

"No doubt. Your scar hasn't been hurting, has it?" Draco stroked sweat-dampened dark hair away from Harry's forehead. The faint light made it difficult to see, but he couldn't tell that it looked different.

"It hasn't. Rather surprising, actually, that I haven't sensed anything from him since about the time Dumbledore... died. You'd think I'd've felt his triumph at the defeat of his greatest enemy."

"But it's _you_ who are his greatest enemy, you know, not Dumbledore," Draco contradicted him. "You're the one figuring out how to kill him. I still agree that tonight was an ordinary nightmare; if he were using dream magic on you, you wouldn't be sitting here talking rationally." Draco didn't know a lot about dream magic, really, but he was sure of that much. "I'd bet this house is too well hidden, even if he had any idea where you are. Come on. You have to get some sleep, and so do I.." He tugged Harry down, keeping an arm around him.

Harry's face pressed against Draco's shoulder. "Thanks," he said in a sleepy mumble.

"Sh. Sleep. We're safe here. Just sleep." Draco whispered the words like a litany as he watched Harry's eyes droop shut and his face grow slack and peaceful. Not until he was sure that Harry was fast asleep again did he let himself drift off as well, still holding Harry close.

He woke this time to Harry shaking him. "Draco."

Oh, Demeter's drawers. They were going to that hovel of the Weasleys', and Granger – Hermione, he reminded himself sleepily – was going to torture him. Not her fault, of course, nor Harry's for demanding that he get rid of it; if anything it was his own, letting himself be Marked, though he had not exactly had much choice in the matter. There wasn't much to choose from between the pain of the transfiguration spell and that of one of Voldemort's summons. He groaned and twisted away into the pillow, but Harry wouldn't let him be.

"Come on, Draco. Dobby'll have breakfast ready soon, but there's time for a quick shower first. Then we'll check the potions before we leave, all right?"

Grumbling, Draco allowed himself to be pulled out of bed. "Shower with me?"

Harry blinked, green eyes widening behind those silly spectacles. "I already took one."

He had, Draco could tell. Harry's hair was still wet and he smelt of soap. "Won't hurt you to go in again, will it?" He wasn't planning to get _too_ inventive in there, but after all he hadn't gotten any last night, whereas Harry had. Draco licked his lips, thinking about it.

"All right." Harry shrugged and started peeling off his clothes. "But we have to be quick."

Standing under the warm water, Draco kissed Harry, trying not to show his desperation. There was no way to wriggle out of his promise to let Hermione try to remove the Mark, but at least he could have _some_ pleasant memory of this day. Harry tugged him closer, their bodies fitting together, touching and stroking until they had both come. Afterward Draco leaned against Harry, arm snugged around his shoulders.

"Better now?" Harry grinned and handed him the soap.

"Yeah," said Draco, washing all the bits of himself he could reach, shrugging, and washing Harry's bits as well even though he knew Harry was perfectly clean already. It was an excuse to touch him, to put off the moment they'd have to go... and Harry seemed to realize what Draco was doing, because he took the slippery bar back and drew Draco in for a fierce kiss, whispering afterward, "I promised I'd stay with you today, and I will."

Draco just hoped that would be enough. All the time they were checking on the potions – adding three drops of extract of blackthorn root to one, stirring another, carefully setting a third to the lowest imaginable simmer – he could distract himself. Eating toast and eggs and tomatoes and drinking tea was of no such help, and the knot in Draco's stomach tightened.

The Flooed to the Burrow this time. No sense chancing that someone at the Ministry might be watching for unlicensed Apparation, Harry said, not if they didn't need to, and Draco wouldn't be much better off if the Ministry had him in their hands than if Voldemort did. He might not have actually harmed Dumbledore, but he had still let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Ungentle questioning might be the least of it.

Harry went through first, calling out "The Burrow" in a firm tone. Draco took a handful of Floo powder and hesitated. He could go somewhere else. He could stay here in Grimmauld Place. He could... but he had promised. Mouth set, he tossed the powder in and stepped into the green flame, watching the grates whirl past until he stumbled out at the Burrow, shaking the soot from his robes.

Already Harry appeared nearly surrounded by the two chattering Weasleys; Draco could hear Ron trying to get him to promise to stay the night.

"No, Ron, I have Dobby helping out now at Grimmauld Place, he'll be terribly disappointed if we're not back for supper... besides," Harry lowered his voice, "we're working on something. Tell you about it later."

"What _are_ you working on?"

Draco barely kept himself from jumping in startlement when Hermione appeared at his elbow, gazing at him speculatively.

"Some dissolving potions, for the locket," he told her quietly. "The first one didn't work, not surprising, but we've several more possibilities brewing. Harry'll probably want to talk to you about them."

"Anything else?" She moved as if to lay her fingers on his arm, but he pulled away.

"Talk to Harry, all right?" He knew he was being rather rude to the only person here who had even tried to be cordial to him, and he sighed. Harry would be annoyed with him; they needed Hermione's help. "Sorry," he muttered.

"I suppose you'll want to have me try to alter the Mark today?" Granger was sharp, no question.

Draco nodded.

"Wait here." She bustled off, somehow managing to pull Harry aside for a minute and whispering to him.

"Some pumpkin juice, dear?" Mrs. Weasley was smiling at Draco and offering him a glass. He wanted to spit that he was not her "dear," but with an effort merely nodded and tried to smile back as he took it and drank. She might be overfamiliar but she was being hospitable, after all.

"We're going to go play some Quidditch, come on, Draco," Harry called from across the room.

Muttering a hasty thanks to Mrs. Weasley, Draco hurried over. "But I thought...?" he murmured to Harry as they headed for the back garden.

"An excuse. It'll be easier out here. Ron knows what we're doing, of course; he won't want to watch, but his parents might, if they knew. To 'keep an eye on things,' and you wouldn't want that. If they think we're just playing Quidditch they won't be fussed. Now. Hermione never plays anyhow, and you can't play so well with three, so I'll volunteer to sit out the first round, let Ginny and Ron play together. We'll see how it goes, but don't worry, I'll be there with you," Harry explained as they walked towards the broom shed.

"Ginny, if you want to take mine, go ahead," Harry told her. "Draco needs to talk to Hermione, and two's better than three for playing. We can swap around after a bit."

She looked slightly suspicious, but evidently tempted by the thought of riding Harry's Firebolt. "Want me to take the Quaffle and you can practice some Keeping, Ron?"

The two redheads swooped off, Ginny on Harry's broom and Ron on his own Cleansweep, and the other three sat down under an oak tree.

"Right. Roll up your left sleeve." Hermione was all business, pulling out her wand.

Reluctantly he folded the soft cotton away from his skin. She pursed her lips. "Do you remember which part was altered last Thursday?" Draco indicated the edge of the skull, near its jaw. "Oh yes, I see. Ready?"

Draco reached out with his right hand to Harry, who took it. "Ready." He wished his voice weren't so faint.

"_Permutatio_."

He had been hoping that he'd misremembered just how much it hurt. Pain seared through his arm and he gripped Harry's hand, biting his lip till he tasted blood. He watched as a tiny section of the skull seemed to unravel and disappear from his skin.

It felt like long minutes before Hermione lowered her wand, ending the spell. The pain itself went with it, but it required an effort to unclench his grip on Harry, finger by finger. Hermione bent forward to examine the change.

"Well, it's working. Slowly." She glanced up at him. "Shall I go on?"

All Draco could manage was a nod, and Harry spoke instead. "Yes. It has to be done."

She frowned, but raised her wand again. "_Permutatio_."

A dozen times she cast the spell, and a dozen times Draco held onto Harry, telling himself it would only be a little while, a few more moments, he had promised he would do this; trying to take pleasure in the fact that gradually the Mark was vanishing from his skin, perhaps an eighth of it gone now.

When Hermione made as if to keep on, though, Draco said, "No. Please. No more."

Harry turned disappointed eyes on him, and Draco added, "Just... give me a few minutes, all right? Let me watch them play. Then you can try again." He jerked his chin upward to where Ron and Ginny still flew, evidently uninterested in what was happening below. Ginny was Keeping now, and Draco could hear faintly the yell she gave when Ron managed to put a Quaffle through the left-hand hoop.

"All right. Shall I get you a glass of water?" Hermione stood and walked off towards the house, not bothering to wait for his reply. It would have been yes.

"How is it?" Harry asked, low.

"How do you think?" Draco could not keep all the bitterness, the anguish, from his voice. "It fucking _hurts_, Harry. It's going to take her a hundred tries to get this thing off me, and it's not exactly the kind of sensation one grows accustomed to. I honestly don't know how much more I can stand today."

Harry was stroking Draco's other hand, running gentle fingers over his wrist and up his arm, caressing the unblemished skin. "If it's too bad to bear, we can stop for a while, till tomorrow even. You didn't promise to have it all done in one day."

"No." Draco couldn't believe he'd said that, when Harry was giving him such an easy way out. "I want it _off_ me." I want you to be proud of me, he didn't say. He had already risked, lost, too much: Voldemort was not exactly known for mercy, and Draco's failure to kill Dumbledore would not be forgiven. There was no reason to keep the Mark when he never intended to answer another summons. If Harry wanted it gone, Draco would endure whatever it took. Although he had told the truth when he said he didn't know how much more he could handle today, he could manage a few more of Hermione's spells. He thought he could. Besides, the Vow was tugging at him again. Somehow it must be that having Draco freed from that tie to Voldemort would be of help to Harry, though Draco could not see how.

"If you say so." Harry's eyes were worried. "I'll tell Hermione to keep at it, for a little while at least. If she can remove half the Mark, I would think you'd be safe enough... I hope so."

"Better to get rid of it all," said Draco roughly, trying not to think about how long that would take, how much it would hurt before it was done.

Nodding, Harry leaned closer and brushed his lips against Draco's cheek.

"I thought you didn't want to do anything like that where anyone could see us," Draco said.

Instead of answering, Harry took Draco's chin in his hand and kissed him, gently but thoroughly, on the mouth; a kiss that felt like a promise. Draco wanted to give in to it, but as his eyes flickered shut he caught a glimpse of Hermione trudging back.

"Wait... Hermione's back." Draco pulled away, breathless. Why had Harry done that?

Harry scowled and turned as Hermione came up to them, carrying a pitcher and with five glasses floating behind her.

"You might be a little more discreet," she said, not looking at either of them as she plucked the glasses out of the air and filled one, handing it to Draco. "Ginny and Ron could end their game at any minute and come fetch you to play, Harry."

"I know." Harry's face was red. "I wasn't... Never mind, stupid of me, I know. I'd actually meant to ask you not to mention us to anyone else. I mean, if anyone found out, especially a Death Eater, it could be really dangerous for Draco."

"What's the point of me not saying anything if you're going to go and snog in public?" Hermione crossed her arms and glared.

"The Burrow isn't exactly _public_," Draco tried to point out in Harry's defense, but Hermione shot him a look of pure disgust, as if it had been Draco's idea.

"Harry, if you want to keep a secret, you have to keep it properly," she scolded.

"I _will_. It was a mistake. It won't happen again," said Harry.

Hermione looked at him, glanced at Draco, and shrugged, sighing. "It's your funeral if it does." Draco felt a chill run through him at the casual way she said that.

"It won't," Harry protested. "And look, if Ginny says anything, you know, asks you if there's something between Draco and me, could you... downplay it? I'm not asking you to lie, if she's guessed, but... I don't want to hurt her. God." Harry ran his fingers through his hair, wincing as he caught a tangle. "What a mess."

"Yes," said Hermione, "it is." She cocked her head. "I'll do what you ask, _if_ you'll promise to be more discreet."

"We will. Won't we, Draco?"

"Fine," Draco said, but he couldn't help squeezing Harry's hand as he did.

"But I did promise Draco to stay with him while you cast the spell. _Permutatio_ on the Mark may not be as painful as _Crucio_, but that's not saying much. It must be something that Voldemort did in making the Mark in the first place, because when we tested it on me it didn't have that effect. If me being here helps, I have to stay."

Hermione sighed. "I suppose that'll be all right, but if Ron or Ginny comes down, at least stop holding hands when I'm not actually casting the spell, can you?" She took out her wand. "Ready for another go, Draco?"

In answer, he held out his left arm and fought to keep silent as it felt like his skin was being burnt away.

By the time that the two Weasleys landed, laughing and talking about the moves they had each pulled, Hermione had managed to get rid of nearly a third of the Mark, which was rather better than Draco had hoped. He had given up his effort at complete stoicism long since, but was still ashamed enough of the tears drying on his cheeks and the sounds that had had come from his throat that Ron's casual, "Enjoying yourself, Malfoy?" made him wrench away from Harry and stand up.

He felt as if he might fall right down again, but he forced himself to look Ron steadily in the eye. "Keep your mouth shut, _Weasley_, because you don't know what the hell you're talking about."

Ron's face turned red. "If you think..." he began, but somehow both Harry and Hermione had stepped between them, with Ginny off to one side, looking nettled.

"Don't, Draco. Please," said Harry quietly. Hermione was saying something to Ron that Draco couldn't hear, only that it sounded urgent.

Draco took a deep breath. "I won't if he won't."

"He didn't mean to be rude," but there was an edge of doubt in Harry's voice. "It's the same thing he would've said to me." He had taken Draco's hand again for a moment, but seemed to realize what he had done and dropped it, clasping his shoulder instead.

"Yeah. Sure." Draco stepped away from Harry. "I think I'd like to play for a bit now, if that's all right? Ginny?"

Ginny looked at him, then back at Harry. "Don't you want to play too?" She held out the Firebolt, and Harry reached for it automatically.

"You and Draco played as a team last time; we should switch around, I think. How about you and Ron against Draco and me?"

That was fine with Draco. Even if Ron hadn't deliberately intended to provoke him, he didn't think he could cope with being the Weasel's partner right now. Ginny would have been all right, he supposed. "Hermione, would you let me borrow your broom again?"

"Of course," she said. "I'll watch, and wave when it's lunchtime. We can do some more work afterward."

Sighing, Draco nodded. Maybe he could stand enough pain to get rid of the Mark today... then, at least, it would be over.


	33. In the Garden

**33. In the Garden**

Whatever else he might have dreamed in the later part of the night, Harry did not remember it when he woke. Draco had rolled away, his breathing heavy, and Harry decided to leave him asleep while he showered. The warm water beating on him felt good, as if it were washing away the horrors of his nightmare. He frowned. That in his dream it had been Draco who was first to be attacked by Voldemort wasn't entirely a surprise, but it felt odd just the same to have been more upset by that than by seeing Ron or Hermione or Ginny succumb.

He toweled dry quickly and pulled on the first clothes that came to hand; no one at the Burrow would care what he wore. Leaning over Draco, he shook his shoulder. "Draco. Come on, you need to wake up."

Draco groused and grumbled as he pushed back the covers, but gave Harry a look of pure sleepy innocence as he said, "Shower with me?"

It was too tempting to resist, even though he was already clean. He was certain that Draco must have ulterior motives, but since it had been Draco who'd not gotten off last night, it seemed only fair to let him have what he wished now; besides, Draco had a painful day in front of him. When they were both in the giddy post-orgasm glow, washing whatever of each other they could reach and laughing, Harry felt a pang of concern at just how much he was asking Draco to endure. He held the other boy tight and kissed him fiercely, promising afterward, "I'll stay with you today. You've nothing to fear."

Almost as soon as he had gone through the Floo to the Burrow, though, Harry realized that keeping his word would be more difficult than he'd anticipated. Ron and Ginny were delighted to see him, and Ron started hinting that Harry, at least, ought to stay the night, since he hadn't on his birthday. It was nice to feel so welcome, but Harry wondered how he could manage to both be with Draco when Hermione cast the _Permutatio_, and yet not have the two Weasleys watching and making Draco uncomfortable.

The problem was solved when Ginny said, "It's a gorgeous morning for flying," in wistful tones, looking sidelong at the boys.

"Why don't we all go out and play some Quidditch?" Harry suggested. "Will your mum mind?"

"Nah," said Ron. "Happy to have us out from underfoot, I expect. It'll let her get Sunday dinner in peace. And Dad'll be tinkering with one of his Muggle gadgets."

"Great." Harry called over to Draco, who'd been given a glass of pumpkin juice by Mrs. Weasley and looked relieved to get away.

"Quidditch?" Draco asked. "But I thought..."

"It's just an excuse. If Ron's parents knew Hermione was trying to remove the Mark, they might want to supervise. Don't worry."

When they reached the broom shed, Harry offered Ginny his Firebolt, explaining that Draco needed to talk with Hermione, so he'd sit out at first and let Ron and Ginny play as two-on-one didn't seem fair.

Draco's face went stiff, almost sullen, when Hermione asked him to roll up his sleeve, but Harry knew it was a mask to hide his apprehension. This close, Harry could see the tiny beads of sweat along Draco's hairline, and the pale slim fingers gripped his own as tightly as a Grindylow.

"_Permutatio_," said Hermione. A tiny patch of the Mark slowly erased itself, the dark lines seeming to unravel into Draco's skin and then disappear as the tracery grew finer and fine. "It's working." Her voice was pleased. "Shall I go on?"

Since Draco stayed quiet, Harry replied for him. "Yes. It has to be done."

She frowned – no doubt because Harry, not Draco, had answered – but when Draco said nothing against the idea, she continued.

After a dozen attempts, each of which removed another minuscule portion, Draco suddenly spoke. "Please. No more."

Only an eighth or so of the Mark was gone – surely Draco wasn't going to give up yet? Harry felt a stab of disappointment, but before he could say anything, Draco added, "Just for a few minutes. Let me watch the Weasleys fly for a bit, and then you can try again."

"I'll get us all a glass of water." Hermione stood, dusting herself off, and headed for the house.

"How is it?" Harry asked.

"It fucking _hurts_, Harry, what do you think? And it's going to take her a hundred goes at this rate, but I don't know how much more I can stand." Draco was blinking fast, his lips red and swollen from biting them at the pain.

Harry ran his fingers over Draco's unmarked right arm. "You didn't promise to let Hermione do it all in one day. If it's too painful, you can stop, try some more tomorrow."

Rather to his astonishment, Draco shook his head at the suggestion. "No, I want it _off_ me, the whole of it."

"Are you sure? I mean, I think you'd be safe enough if she can get rid of half, perhaps even less."

"Better to have it all gone," said Draco, meeting Harry's gaze with a look that was weary and determined and anguished all at once. He seemed so forlorn that Harry couldn't help leaning to kiss him, just on the cheek, and felt the pulse in Draco's wrist quicken beneath his fingers.

"I thought we weren't going to do that sort of thing where anyone could see." Draco's voice was a husky murmur, roughened by the pain he'd been swallowing.

He's going through this for me, realized Harry abruptly. Because _I asked_, not just because he'll be safer. There didn't seem to be any way to express the emotions that welled up inside him except to kiss Draco again, mouth to mouth this time, tasting the faintest hint of pumpkin juice as Draco's lips yielded to his for an instant.

"No – Hermione." Draco pulled back.

She had seen, though, saying, "You might be a _little_ more circumspect, given that at any moment Ron and Ginny are likely to come for you to take a turn."

Guilt stabbed at him. It _had_ been stupid, and he admitted it. "It won't happen again."

"It's your funeral if it does," said Hermione levelly, her eyes flickering to Draco.

Not Harry's funeral, most likely. Draco's. "It won't. Um. Look, if Ginny asks... could you try to downplay this? Don't lie, I would ask that, but it's all rather a mess."

"It is, yes. But if you'll promise to be more discreet, I'll do what you're asking."

"We will be," Harry told her, and Draco nodded his agreement, although the continued pressure of his hand prompted Harry to add, "But I did promise I'd stay while you're casting the _Permutatio_. If me being here helps to distract from the pain, I have to. I guess it's something Voldemort did with the Mark because the spell wasn't painful when we tested it on me the very first time."

"All right," sighed Hermione. "Just stop holding hands when I'm not actually casting the spell – what if Ginny or Ron comes down?"

"I understand, Hermione. I'm not a _complete_ idiot."

"No, just too impulsive sometimes. Ready, Draco?"

As Hermione continued to work, and Draco grew paler and gripped Harry's hand more and more tightly, Harry thought about what she had said. He _was_ impulsive, Hermione was right, but also... he hated having to hide. He would trust the Weasley family with his own life, but it wasn't fair to put Draco's on the line; Draco didn't know them the way Harry did, he had spent _his_ whole life hearing that they were blood traitors. And Ginny made everything hugely more complicated. If she figured things out, what might she do? Maybe it would be better to tell her, although he shuddered at the thought of working out how to even start _that_ conversation. Harry glanced at Hermione, who was concentrating so hard on Draco that she was ignoring the strands of hair that the breeze kept whipping into her eyes. He reached over and tucked the lock behind her ear and she nodded absently.

After a while, Draco began to make soft moans deep in his throat each time Hermione recast the spell, and Harry saw tears sliding down his cheeks though his eyes were closed. He didn't ask again for Hermione to stop, however. Harry edged closer and started murmuring words of encouragement, hardly knowing what he said, just wanting to help Draco hang on. When he heard Ginny and Ron's laughing voices coming closer, he stroked Draco's arm and said to Hermione, "Stop for now."

Ron looked cheerful – he must have had a successful run as Keeper to Ginny's Chaser – and when he came close he said, "Enjoying yourself, Malfoy?" in a casual tone.

Draco sprang to his feet faster than Harry would have believed possible, especially given that he looked as if he might fall over just as quickly. The trembling of his voice matched that of his legs. "Shut your mouth, _Weasel_. You don't know what you're talking about."

Before they could go any further, Harry stood up and put himself between the two. Hermione had done the same, and immediately started talking to Ron in an urgent tone. Harry could hear enough to know that she was reminding him of how much the _Permutatio_ hurt, and of course Draco was touchy, Ron would be too in his circumstances. Harry hoped Draco didn't hear that last bit.

"Please don't, Draco," he said softly. "I'm sure Ron didn't intend to be rude."

"I won't if he won't," said Draco.

"He'd've said the same to me. He wasn't sneering at you, really." Harry realized he had taken Draco's hand again without thinking. He let it go and touched his shoulder instead.

"If you say so." Draco's voice held lingering doubt. He stepped away, taking a deep breath and squaring his narrow shoulders. "I think I'd like to fly for a bit now, take a break. Ginny? I trust it's all right if I play?" Harry hoped she heard the question as plea rather than condescension.

"Are you playing too?" Ginny looked at Harry and held out the Firebolt to him.

"Sure, I guess so." After what Draco had gone through this morning, he deserved a break to relax. Best if he didn't team with Ron, though. "Since you and Draco played together last time, maybe we should switch around. All right if you and Ron go against Draco and me?"

Ginny hesitated, then shrugged. "Fine. Ron, ready to take on Harry and Draco?"

"Absolutely." Ron still looked somewhat annoyed, but Harry expected he would get over it once they were up in the air.

As she had done once before, Hermione lent Draco her broom, saying that she was pleased to simply watch and would wave them down when it was time to eat.

They played with just the Quaffle, which gave Ginny and Ron an advantage, but Harry was pleased to find that he and Draco worked well as a team. Not that it was easy to get past Ron, but they each managed several goals, alternating turns as Keeper defending against Ginny. By the time that Hermione's calls urged them back, the tension in Draco's face had smoothed and he even managed a grin at Harry when they landed.

"Come _on_, you took ages up there," said Hermione impatiently and hustled them all into the house, where Mrs. Weasley had a substantial meal waiting. Harry sat next to her and managed with a certain amount of difficulty to convince her that Dobby was doing a perfectly fine job of feeding them and would be hurt if Harry hinted otherwise by staying away for supper without notice.

"I worry about you, Harry." Mrs. Weasley patted his arm, but her head was turned towards Draco. Harry wasn't sure if that meant she thought Draco was the cause for worry or not.

He was not interested in finding out, either. If she did he didn't want to know. He was of age, now, and he could decide for himself what he was going to do. "I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley." Harry smiled at her.

She continued to look doubtful, turning the topic of conversation to Hogwarts. "You really ought to go back when the term begins. Ron is talking about leaving as well, but we'll just see about that. None of you is ready to face You-Know-Who, whatever you may think. Arthur and I are agreed on that point and so are Minerva and Remus." She nodded at her husband at the far end of the table, who broke off speaking to Ron to lift his fork in salute back.

"It doesn't matter if we are ready or not," Harry said, a little wearily. "Voldemort isn't going to accommodate his plans to our abilities or our convenience. I have to start doing what I can, now. Draco's given me some useful information and I _do_ have plans, though I can't share them with you yet." Why Dumbledore had been reluctant for the Order to learn about the Horcruxes, Harry still couldn't fathom, but until he either figured out why or had no other alternative, he planned to keep that bit of knowledge limited to as few people as possible.

Mrs. Weasley sniffed, a sound halfway between annoyance and concern. "If _you_ must, then you must, but that doesn't mean Ron should be involved in this mad enterprise."

"No, it doesn't," said Harry slowly, glancing at Ron on the far side of the table. He knew he couldn't persuade Ron not to want to help; Ron would just point out that if Harry took risks, so could he, and hadn't things always worked out best when the two of them and Hermione acted together? Which, truthfully, Harry could not deny. Only now there was Draco to be considered too. He knew as much as Ron did about the Horcruxes, he had some potentially useful information on Voldemort and the Death Eaters – Harry was surprised that McGonagall hadn't yet insisted that Draco share that with the Order – and he'd taken an Unbreakable Vow that ensured that he would help Harry, regardless of any other considerations. Not that Harry didn't trust both Ron and Hermione implicitly, but now that Draco had somehow become a part of his life too, things were different from what they had once been. Frustrated, he sighed, and was thankful when Mrs. Weasley left him alone for the time being, talking instead to Hermione at her other elbow.

After they had all finished eating, and Ron and Ginny were helping their mother clean up – with vociferous protest from Ron – Harry asked Draco quietly, "How do you feel about letting Hermione work on the Mark some more now?"

Draco's smile was tight. "I really haven't much of a choice, have I? I suppose you could cast the spell too, but I'd rather keep on as we were. If you can think of a way to keep Ginny and Ron from watching." He sounded half-ashamed to be asking that.

"Well, Ron already knows about getting rid of the Mark; he saw Hermione's first attempt at Grimmauld Place. If you don't mind Ginny knowing too, I could just tell them that you'd rather be private as Hermione casts the spell. I think they'd both respect that. One of them might joke about it, is all." Harry thought it over. "I could ask Ginny to see if she can find any good recipes for dissolving potions in the meantime. Who knows, maybe she'll discover something useful."

Draco muttered something that Harry didn't catch. Instead of repeating it when Harry asked, though, he said, "I was thinking... they've done a lot for you, and have been helping me now too, for your sake." His throat worked as he swallowed. "Maybe there's something I could give them, Ginny and Ron and Hermione too. I have a fair bit of money now that I have my chest again. How do you think they'd like tickets to a Quidditch match? Isn't Ron a big Cannons fan?" Draco's expression was slightly derisive, but he smoothed it out when Harry looked at him.

"He is, yeah. I'm not sure what team Ginny follows." Admitting that was a bit embarrassing. Surely he ought to know what team his girlfriend – or rather, ex-girlfriend, but still friend – supported. "Hermione's not so keen on Quidditch, you know that, but she liked seeing the World Cup. She'd enjoy going with them even if she wouldn't pick up on the finer points," he added in a low tone, lest Hermione, reading on the far side of the room, overhear.

"Upcoming matches ought to be in the _Prophet_," said Draco. "Surely the Weasleys get – ah, there it is." He had spotted the stack of issues piled on top of a side table. Grabbing the most recent, he flipped through it rapidly. "Cannons... they're playing next Saturday, against Puddlemere. Plenty of time to send for tickets. If you think it's a good idea? I can order four tomorrow, if you'll let me borrow your owl."

"Four tickets? Why four?"

A flush spread over Draco's cheeks. "I thought you'd enjoy going too, but I'm sure that having me there would make it less fun for the others, and if they're not having a good time then you won't. Better if I stay away. Besides, it's too dangerous, there could easily be Death Eaters there and it wouldn't be safe."

It was tempting. He had never been to a regular professional match, but... "No," Harry said. "You're probably right about the danger, but I _wouldn't_ enjoy it knowing you were stuck in Grimmauld Place alone. It's a splendid idea to get tickets for the others, if you want to give them a gift, but I won't go if you can't. Add in Mr. and Mrs. Weasley instead, if you'd like."

"All right." Draco looked thoughtful. "I'll think about it."

"What are you nattering on about?" Ron's voice interrupted them.

"Hermione's going to work on the Mark some more," said Harry. "I told Draco I'd stay with him... come on, I'd do the same for you," he added when Ron's eyebrows went up. "Give over. While we're doing that, I was wondering if you could help me out by looking to see if you could find anything about a potion that might destroy the locket Horcrux, you and Ginny."

Ron's expression was rebellious, almost sulky. "You know I'm rubbish at that sort of thing. Hermione's the one to do research."

"She can't exactly cast the _Permutatio_ spell _and_ research potions at the same time," Harry said impatiently. "Come on, Ron, I need your help. It can't always be exciting duels in the Ministry's lower levels." Harry glanced across the room. Ginny had come back in and was talking to Hermione, who had closed her book but kept her finger in it to mark her place. "Ginny? Would you do me a favor?" he called.

"What is it?" Ginny looked over.

"Go through whatever Potions books you have around here and see if you can find a really strong potion to dissolve metal," said Harry.

"Gold, but it seems harder than ordinary gold," Draco put in. "Something that works on steel might do, as long as it doesn't work by accelerating rust."

"I'll look, and Mum might know of something too," said Ginny. "Should I ask her as well?"

"Yes, of course. You don't mind?"

Ginny shrugged, and Harry wondered what Hermione had said to her. "Not really. I think I pulled a muscle catching the Quaffle that last time, my arm's sore and I don't feel like playing Quidditch again right now anyway."

"Oh, fine, I'll help," grumbled Ron when Harry turned to him once more. "We haven't that many books on Potions, but maybe in Percy's room... he did a N.E.W.T. in it, and I think his books are still here."

"Thanks, Ron. I appreciate it. Thanks, Ginny," he said as Ginny came over, trailed by Hermione, who had tucked the book under her arm.

"Can we start again now?" Draco asked Hermione, though his expression was distinctly unenthusiastic. "I'd like to get it over with today, if that's possible."

The two Weasleys went off, Ron to Percy's room and Ginny to talk to her mother – "Maybe something Mum uses to unblock the drains would do if it were concentrated enough," she speculated before disappearing. The other three went back outside and sat under the big oak once more.

Harry reached for Draco's right hand and held it in both his own, waiting for Hermione to begin the spell.

"I want to try something different." Hermione looked, not at Draco, but at Harry. "There might be a way to do this faster."

"How?" Draco and Harry both spoke at once, and Draco went on, "Why didn't you say so before?"

Her face was pink. "I didn't remember how to do it; that's what I was reading about, just now. And... there oughtn't to be anyone else around. This morning, when Ron and Ginny might have stopped playing at any time, it wouldn't have been proper."

"What do you mean, not proper?" asked Harry. "Just what is it you want to try?"

Hermione took a deep breath, then spoke very fast, her eyes fixed on the wand she was turning over in her fingers. "It's a way to enhance the effect of a spell on one person by casting it _through_ a second person to amplify it, using the second person's magical ability. It only works if there's a very strong emotional connection between the amplifier and the subject, though, because..."

"Don't bother explaining the theory," said Harry, letting go of Draco with his right hand and holding it up to stop her. "You'd be casting _Permutatio_ through me to affect Draco."

"Yes." Hermione was bright scarlet now. "But the emotional connection... it has to be..." her voice squeaked and she fell silent.

"I think what she's trying it say is that we have to be in love, or maybe that we have to have had sex," drawled Draco with an edge to his tone that Harry could not identify.

She nodded mutely, then found her voice to say, "I wouldn't suggest it except that it _would_ make the Mark disappear much faster, if it works. Maybe five or even ten times as fast."

"Will I feel what Draco feels?" Harry asked.

Hermione frowned. "You shouldn't, if we do it properly. You'll just be the conduit. Or maybe 'focus' is a better description, like a lens that narrows down light and makes it brighter by doing so. You'll be enhancing the intensity of the spell."

"All right, then," said Harry. He supposed that what he and Draco had done together qualified as sex; it certainly did in his opinion, and he found himself grinning at the memory. And he had to admit that the necessary emotion was there, although that thought made his smile fade a little again. If this succeeded, and they removed the Mark so quickly, Ginny and Ron would doubtless want to know how – and the explanation for it wouldn't be one either Weasley would much enjoy hearing. But if it meant less pain for Draco to have it over with faster, Harry was willing to try. "How do we do this?"

"Put your hand over... no, you'd better move around to Draco's other side first," said Hermione briskly. She opened her book and scanned it briefly, then nodded to herself. "Now, put your right hand over his arm, with your index finger touching the Mark just there, at the edge of where I've been removing it. Give me your other hand so I can cast the spell _through_ you – when it goes through your heart, that's what intensifies the magic."

"It sounds dangerous," Draco said, his voice thready with apprehension. "It can't hurt Harry, doing this, can it?"

"There's some risk involved," admitted Hermione. "But no real danger."

"What do you mean?"

Harry was glad that Draco had asked. He trusted Hermione, but sometimes she did get too caught up in the sheer excitement of learning something new to consider the possible consequences.

Guardedly she said, "Since we haven't ever tried this before, there's perhaps a one in three chance that it won't work at all, and I'd guess a one in fifteen chance that there will be a... a backwash, is the best way to describe it, which would mean Harry would feel the same pain that Draco does. But I'm quite certain that it won't actually _harm_ you in any way, Harry, any more than the _Permutatio_ alone harms Draco. It just might hurt a bit."

"Hurt a _lot_," Draco contradicted.

"I'll take that risk," said Harry, relieved. "It sounds as if the worst that might happen, really, is that _nothing_ would happen. I'm not worried about the pain."

"Give me your hand again, then," said Hermione. "Ready? Now focus on Draco, on the Mark, as if you were going to cast the spell yourself, but don't say anything. Just concentrate your attention, and I'll... _Permutatio!_"

A tingle shot through Harry, almost like when, at the age of five, he had stuck one of Aunt Petunia's hairpins into an electrical outlet because Dudley had dared him to. She hadn't scolded Dudley at all; she had yelled at Harry instead and forced him to stay in his cupboard for an entire day. This tingle was not painful in the same way, though. It was more as if all his senses were heightened. He was very aware of Draco, the way that a stray sunbeam glinted off his hair, the not-quite-spicy smell of his skin. He could almost feel the Dark Mark under his fingertips, the evil residue of it shrinking away from the force of Hermione's spell.

"It's working," said Draco in awe as a Knut-sized patch disappeared where Harry's finger touched his arm.

"It is," agreed Hermione, sounding – it couldn't be surprised? If she had discovered this trick in her reading, surely she had expected it to work if done correctly. But when Harry asked, as they paused before repeating the spell, she blushed.

"I... I wasn't sure if the two of you were really..."

Suddenly Harry realized that his cock was hard, painfully so, and that he wanted nothing more than to tear off his clothes and Draco's. He forced the urge down. "We really are," he confirmed a touch ruefully.

"It would seem so," Draco agreed. A quick glance told Harry that Draco was experiencing the same rush of desire. He hoped Hermione didn't notice, though that was unlikely; she had seemed to know this might well happen when she'd said it would be improper to try the spell with anyone else around. Bad enough that _she_ was there, Harry thought.

"Um." Hermione was biting her lip. "Was it too painful, having that much removed at once, for you to keep on?"

"No, I want to finish," said Draco, his voice firm.

Harry felt a rush of gratification to hear that. A thought niggled at him, though; if they tried this again, and it added to the physical effects, he might just come untouched in his own trousers, and in front of Hermione that would be sheer humiliation. But Draco seemed unconcerned about any such possibility and Harry could hardly refuse to participate now. He wasn't the one having to endure the pain... and perhaps the distraction of being aroused made it hurt less for Draco. Harry could bear even the shame of having an orgasm in Hermione's presence if it meant that. He hoped earnestly it would not be necessary.

As they repeated the spell several times, each effort causing a clearly-visible shrinkage in the Mark, Harry retained control only with the sternest of efforts. Draco gripped his own knee with his other hand until his knuckles were white; Harry couldn't tell if he did so to distract himself from the pain of the Mark dissolving or from a lust that matched Harry's own.

"Oh, thank goodness," Hermione whispered as the last patch of inky tracery finally vanished, accompanied by a moan and shudder from Draco. "Are you all right?"

Draco nodded, still shaking.

"Can you give us a few minutes, Hermione?" Harry interposed when she seemed about to cross-question Draco on his reaction.

She shot him a look as she rose. "Remember, discretion."

"I _know_," said Harry, irritated. Did she think he was going to leap on Draco right in the Weasleys' back garden? Well, perhaps he would. He closed his fingers around the thin tufts of grass next to his legs.

"I'll go back to the house and see how Ron and Ginny are getting on. I'll tell them you'll be there in fifteen minutes," Hermione said.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Harry turned to Draco. "You felt it too."

"Did I ever." Draco swallowed. "Merlin, Harry, it's all I can do not to shag you right hear."

Hearing that made Harry gasp, imagining it. He'd thought about what that might be like, a few times in the past week or so, but Draco had never been so direct in saying what he wanted. "Yes," he agreed thickly.

"Or have you shag me," said Draco, his grey eyes gleaming almost silver as he gazed at Harry.

Harry stifled a whimper. Not here. Not now. He didn't even dare touch Draco at present or he'd start rutting mindlessly against him. "Tonight," he said, and the single word was a promise to them both.


	34. The Bedroom

**34. The Bedroom**

There was something exhilarating about playing Quidditch _with_ Harry, instead of against him. Ginny was an excellent player, Draco admitted privately, and Ron was not as bad as Draco had formerly made him out to be, but there was a joy to playing with Harry, tossing the Quaffle between them as easily as if each knew somehow just where the other would be – Draco nearly forgot the pain he had already endured that day, and would face again later, as he exulted in the game.

He smiled at Harry as they walked back to the house behind Hermione, and managed to put himself between Harry and Ginny at the dining table. There he could eat without being asked to talk much; the two Weasley children spoke with their father, while Molly Weasley monopolized first Harry and then Hermione in conversation. Draco was quite content, listening to Harry say that Draco had given him useful information in the past fortnight – Draco presumed he meant identifying R.A.B. as Regulus Black, although that did not seem terribly vital – and that he wasn't planning to return to Hogwarts in September. Good. The thought of staying alone in the old Black house made Draco feel odd, even if he did have a kind of a claim to it. He would far rather that Harry be there.

Once the meal was over, Harry asked Draco if he was ready to let Hermione try again. He dreaded it, but he especially shied from having Ron or Ginny see how badly it hurt him. When he hinted at that, though, Harry suggested asking Ginny to search for possible dissolving potions. "We haven't had any luck yet, but maybe she'll find something useful."

"I think not," Draco muttered under his breath. It seemed impossible that the Weasley household would have even a recipe for such a potent potion, when their search of the Black library had yielded only a handful of likely candidates. But it would serve to keep Ginny busy, and perhaps Ron too, and that was good enough; so when Harry asked what he had said, "Draco replied smoothly, "I was thinking that they've all done such a lot for you, and even helped me, for your sake. Perhaps I might give them something."

He had learned that from his father, that help should be rewarded, to encourage the person to continue. "Since Kreacher brought me my chest, I have a fair bit of money. Do you suppose they'd like tickets for a Quidditch match, Ron and Ginny and Hermione as well? I know Ron follows the Cannons." He couldn't keep his lip from curling slightly as he said that; Weasley _would_ support the worst team in the league.

Harry thought it was a good idea, but insisted that he should not take a ticket if Draco wasn't going to go too.

In fact, Draco would have liked to attend a Quidditch match, especially a Cannons-Puddlemere one. It would be amusing to see Ron cheering for the losing team; he rather suspected that Ginny had better taste. But it would be too dangerous. Even if the Mark were gone, he would be too easily recognized by any Death Eater to go about in public safely. Instead he would send Molly and Arthur Weasley along, neatly discharging any obligation he might have to them as well.

Once Ginny, and more reluctantly Ron, had agreed to see if they could discover any suitable dissolving potion recipes, Hermione led Draco and Harry back to the oak tree they had worked under that morning and put a surprising suggestion before them.

"There might be a way to remove the Mark faster. I had to look up the details just now, but it wouldn't have been proper to have tried it this morning when Ron or Ginny might have seen, anyhow." Hermione was blushing, something Draco had never thought to see.

"What is it you want to try?" Harry sounded puzzled.

"There's a way to enhance a spell's effects by casting it through another witch or wizard, drawing on their magic to amplify it. But there has to be a _very_ strong emotional connection..." she trailed off.

Draco thought he understood what she was hinting at. "You mean we have to be in love."

Hermione turned even pinker, and he realized there was more to it.

"Or do you mean we have to have had sex?" He wouldn't put it past her to have found a spell that did indeed enhance the effect of another, but that would simultaneously assuage her own curiosity.

"If it works, it will make the Mark disappear as much as five or even ten times as fast," Hermione said, not quite meeting his eyes.

That was the question: if it would work.

"Will I feel what Draco feels?" asked Harry.

"Not if it's done properly. You'll act as a focus for the spell, concentrating it and enhancing its intensity, but it won't actually affect you," Hermione explained. She had Harry move so that he could touch Draco's arm with one hand while she cast the _Permutatio_ through the other.

Before she could begin, though, Draco had to be certain that it wouldn't injure Harry. The Unbreakable Vow was not something he wanted to chance breaking; if Hermione was doing the spell-casting, but on Draco's behalf, could it be construed as Draco himself doing Harry harm if something went wrong? He asked Hermione if there was any risk.

"It might not work at all. And there's perhaps one chance in fifteen that there will be a kind of backwash, so that Harry would feel the same pain you do, Draco, but it can't _harm_ him, because the spell's not being directed at him. The worst is that it could hurt a bit."

Draco glared at her. "It would hurt a _lot_."

"I'm willing to risk it," Harry insisted. "The pain doesn't worry me."

He touched Draco's arm once more, and gave Hermione his other hand, fixing his gaze on the Mark as Hermione commanded, "_Permutatio!_"

The spell felt different from when Hermione had cast it earlier. No less painful, but Draco hadn't expected that. No _more_ painful either, which he had half-anticipated since more of the Mark was disappearing. Harry's finger moved slightly, and the black lines where it touched simply vanished.

"It's working," said Draco, disbelieving. He wondered briefly whether his father had ever seriously considered trying to remove his own Mark, in those years when Voldemort had seemed to be gone for good; and wondered, too, how Lucius Malfoy would react to learning that his son had in fact done so. Thoughts of his father were interrupted by the realization that Harry's touch was having a very strong effect on other parts of his body besides the Mark on his arm.

"It is, look." Hermione's voice was excited.

"Didn't you think it would?" Harry inquired.

"Well, I wasn't sure if you two were really..." She blushed again.

"We really are," Harry said, sounding as uncomfortable as Draco felt, with his cock throbbing insistently against the confining fabric of his trousers.

It did distract from the agony of the Mark's removal, Draco assured himself, even if it was somewhat embarrassing to be this hard in front of Granger. Still, it could have been the Weasel or his sister, which would have been far worse. So when Hermione asked if he wanted to continue, Draco told her yes.

Repeating the spell only made it worse. Since he couldn't hold Harry's hand any more, Draco clenched the fingers of his right hand around his knee, and tried to think of the least arousing things he could imagine to keep from leaping on Harry right there. He could tell that Harry was having more or less the same reaction – even without the telltale bulge at his groin, his lips were parted and his eyes glazed over as his breath came in shallow pants. Draco couldn't tell if Hermione knew what was happening, or if she felt anything herself. He watched the last of the Mark disappearing from his arm, and let out a moan, not sure if it from was the physical pain, or the knowledge that he had now irrevocably broken away from his father's allegiance, or the fire of arousal that was burning through his veins.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked.

He was shaking so hard he could only nod, and to his relief Harry asked Hermione to leave them alone for a bit. She warned them again to be discreet, and that she would expect them inside in fifteen minutes, and then, mercifully, she was gone.

"You felt it too," said Harry, his eyes dilated.

"I did. It's all I can do not to shag you right here... or have you shag me," Draco told him, not caring whether that admission might show his weakness. Harry gasped at his words. Oh, yes, Draco was not the only desperate one here.

"Tonight." Harry made the word sound like a promise.

Which way Harry meant, Draco didn't care. "Tonight," he agreed. "Merlin, yes."

That was hours off yet, though, and he – _they!_ – were going to have to go back inside the Burrow, where the others were waiting, first. _Not_ what Draco wanted to do. He wasn't even sure he could stand up and walk just now. Judging from Harry's disgruntled expression, he felt much the same. Draco took a deep breath.

"Think of – " Inspiration struck. "Think of Filch and Pince together."

"Eugh." Harry grimaced. "That's revolting."

"Exactly," grinned Draco. "I mean you _could_ think of cold showers instead, but I bet my idea works better."

He stood up with a certain amount of effort and looked at his arm, running his fingers across the unmarked pale skin. It was hard to believe it really was gone, that Voldemort could no longer issue that painful summons. That he had broken his ties of loyalty to nearly everything he had ever valued, including, almost certainly, his own family. Draco shivered despite the warmth of the sun as they walked across the garden.

"Are you all right?" Harry's voice was solicitous.

"I'm fine," said Draco sharply. He didn't want to talk about it, not here. Then he glanced at Harry and added by way of conciliation, "I'd just rather be going home." Which was no lie; he was astonished, though, to realize that by "home" he had meant the Black house, with Harry, as much as Malfoy Manor.

Equally astonishing, the two Weasleys had managed to locate several possible potions to try, although Harry had to tell them that all but one were the same as those he and Draco had already found. But the one remaining had possibilities, Draco thought, reading it over Hermione and Ginny's shoulders.

"I wish I could ask Professor Snape about this," he remarked absently, pointing to the list of ingredients, which included three ounces of powdered root of sea-holly. "It's usually added to slow down a potion's progress, and yet the notes at the beginning describe this formula as exceptionally fast-acting."

Ron made a rude noise. "Ask _that_ old git anything? Especially after what he did to Professor Dumbledore? I wouldn't trust him for a second."

Looking over at Harry, Draco saw him nodding agreement, but Hermione frowned.

"He's a true master at Potions, Ron, far better than Professor Slughorn."

"You're not seriously suggesting we try to contact _Snape_?" Ron sounded incredulous.

"No. If Draco is concerned about the sea-holly root, I expect that we can research it ourselves and find out. Or we could owl Professor Slughorn. He would know. His approach is rather old-fashioned and not that rigorous, but that doesn't mean he's not competent," Hermione said.

"It's not that important, I'm sure," said Draco. "I was just curious."

"How could you ask Snape, anyway?" interjected Ginny.

"An owl could probably find him. I know where his family home is; he might or might not be living there, but it would be a place to begin." Draco was too startled by Ginny's question not to answer honestly. "I'd be careful in writing the letter though, in case he were elsewhere. If one of the other Death Eaters saw it and traced the reply owl, that could be very bad for all of us."

"You seem to have given this a good deal of thought." Ron leaned over the scuffed wood of the table. "Have you been planning to contact Snape all along?"

"Ron!" said Hermione and Harry simultaneously, even as Draco tensed.

"You know perfectly well why Draco isn't going to do anything that would be dangerous to Harry." Hermione glanced towards Ginny, who, Draco realized, had probably never been told about his Unbreakable Vow.

"And anyway, I trust him," said Harry firmly.

Ron still looked unconvinced, and Ginny confused, so Draco decided to speak. He was the one who had made the Vow, after all, and if he didn't want to keep it secret from her, that was his decision.

"I _can't_ do anything that would hurt Harry," Draco said, watching as Ginny's eyes widened. She probably had guessed just from that, but he continued. "I made an Unbreakable Vow last week. Hermione sealed the spell, and Ron was a witness; I swore that I would be loyal to Harry and do whatever I could to help him. So unless Ron thinks that Hermione made a mistake in casting the spell," Draco threw Ron a look of disgust, "he knows perfectly well that I couldn't owl Snape if it would put Harry in any danger."

"But you could if you thought it would help him," Ron argued. "And you might be mistaken."

Draco sighed. "I _do_ think it would be useful to ask him about possible potions, but I'm quite well aware that it would also be very dangerous. Only an idiot could not realize that. So I'd have to talk to Harry about it first, if I _did_ plan to send Professor Snape any message."

"I'd rather keep that possibility in reserve for now," said Harry. "I mean, we've done rather well on our own so far. We _have_ found one of the Horcruxes, the one Dumbledore thought he had located but was mistaken about. And Hermione's found a way to get rid of the Dark Mark."

"It wasn't just me," Hermione said fairly. "You and Draco came up with the _Permutatio_ spell first, even if I cast it."

None of the three of them mentioned the trick of enhancement that Hermione had used that afternoon, Draco noted. Well, there really was no need. He certainly didn't care to share his reaction to it with either Weasley.

"Anyhow," Hermione went on, "this potion looks as if it's worth considering. It isn't too complicated to brew, and the only somewhat unusual ingredient is doxy hair, which shouldn't be hard to find if you go to Diagon Alley tomorrow, Harry."

"There's some in Fred and George's old room," volunteered Ginny unexpectedly. "Under Fred's bed; he left a lot of bits and pieces behind. I think it was an ingredient in the Puking Pastilles."

"D'you think he'd mind if I used it?" asked Harry.

"I shouldn't think so; if he'd wanted it, he's had plenty of time to fetch it since they moved out," Ginny said.

"It _would_ be great to be able to begin tonight," said Harry, pulling the book towards himself and running his finger down the printed paragraphs. "There's several times in the process when it has to rest for hours, so I'd rather get it started quickly. In fact, we should probably leave soon. There are several other potions we're working on, and some of them need to be tended."

Predictably, Ron protested at Harry's departure, but Ginny was half-hearted in supporting his objections and Hermione flushed faintly and said nothing. Harry would not be swayed, though he did go off to find the elder Weasleys and thank them, leaving Draco standing somewhat awkwardly until Harry came back.

"Do keep watch on your arm," Hermione told him. "Just in case we missed something. If it starts to itch or ache or feel odd in any way, let me know as quickly as possible. Since no one, as far as we've heard, has ever removed the Dark Mark before, there's no way to know what the possible side effects or reactions might be."

Although Draco was certain he would be fine, he promised as Hermione asked, lest she keep nagging him about it. Finally Harry came back, grinning.

"You might have something to look forward to next weekend, all of you," he said, and winked at Draco, who felt momentarily annoyed that Harry should have spoiled his surprise before he'd even arranged it. He supposed, however, that it was for the best; the Weasleys were doubtless on the over-protective side, and some advance notice necessary. When Harry said, "Ready, Draco?" he nodded and went with Harry to the fireplace, ready to Floo back.

"It's good to be home," said Harry, sounding a bit surprised by his own statement as he brushed ash and soot from his clothes.

_Home._ Draco mouthed the word. To think of Grimmauld Place as home – he could see why that might be strange for Harry, though it _was_ his home. For Draco himself... well, Harry's presence made it home in a peculiar way, as he had realized earlier, but suddenly Draco missed Malfoy Manor, and his family, dreadfully. He took a deep breath, about to speak, when he was cut off by a shrill voice.

"Master Harry!" Dobby squeaked. "Dobby is making roast beef and pudding for Master Harry and Master Draco, but he is not expecting them home until later. Dobby is very sorry that the food is not being ready until six o'clock."

Draco glanced automatically at the ornate clock on the mantelpiece, which said a quarter past four.

"That's perfectly all right, Dobby," said Harry. "We need to take a look at the potions downstairs anyhow. I'm sure we'll manage to pass the time until you have supper ready, so don't rush."

"Thank you, Master Harry, you is too kind to Dobby. Dobby must hurry back to the kitchen now or the food will burn." The house-elf bowed until his nose nearly touched the floor. Draco was sure his ridiculous pile of hats would fall off, but somehow they stayed on Dobby's head as he straightened and disappeared into the hallway.

"Now," Harry said with a little tremor in his voice, "we probably should check those potions first."

"And second?" Draco prompted.

Harry's cheeks were flushed. "Second... well, it's nearly two hours till dinner, and the potions can't take long. So, um..."

Draco touched Harry's shoulder. "Yes. As soon as we've done what's necessary"

They couldn't be _too_ hasty with the brewing potions, but by mutual unspoken agreement they did not start work on the recipe that Ginny and Ron had found; there would be time for that later tonight, or perhaps tomorrow. Before five o'clock they were upstairs in their room, Harry looking nervously at Draco as he untied his trainers.

"We don't _have_ to do this," Draco pointed out. "Either way."

"I know." Harry's fingers fumbled at his trouser zip. "But I want to, really. I'm just not... you know." He had gone bright red again.

"You haven't done this, yeah." Draco swallowed. "Good thing I have, isn't it?" He tried to keep his tone light, not to sound condescending – that would put a quick end to any plans for tonight, he was sure.

He stripped his clothes off quickly, folding them to hang over the back of the chair, and was about to climb onto the bed when he realized. "Oh, blast."

"What is it?" Harry had for some reason left his socks on till the end, and paused in the midst of peeling the first off.

"No lube." Draco picked up the bottle of cucumber lotion that was sitting by the bed and poured a bit into his palm. "This will do, if it's all we can find, but something a bit more slippery would be better. Bath oil's too scented usually or I'd suggest that."

"I, er... hang on," said Harry, crossing the room and bending down to rummage through a drawer. He looked odd in just his socks, but the position gave Draco a lovely view of his arse, and the thought that his cock might be inside that tight hole later brought it to full attention.

"Seamus gave me this last Christmas; I think he meant it as a joke, but..." Harry's voice was sheepish as he handed Draco a half-empty bottle. "I've used it some."

Draco flipped open the cap and sniffed. "Melon, ew. But it's much better than the lotion for this," he said, dabbing one fingertip in the gooey gel. He closed it and patted the mattress beside himself. "Come here."

Harry took off his socks at last, then crawled up next to Draco and lay leaning on one elbow. "Put these down, would you?" he asked as he handed his glasses to Draco, who had the nightstand on his side. "Um." His face had gone bright red. "We never talked yet about who, er, who..."

"Would top and who would bottom?" Draco asked as matter-of-factly as he could manage.

"Yeah."

"Do you have a preference?"

"Well, since I've never done this at all, it's pretty hard to know which to prefer," Harry said. "How about you?"

"Not really. I mean, topping is relatively straightforward... if you've been wanking and expecting that you'd eventually have sex with a girl," Draco didn't much want to remind Harry of Ginny, but there wasn't another way to explain it that he could think of offhand, "then topping would probably feel more comfortable. But being the bottom can be a lot of fun too; not everyone enjoys it, I guess, but I did. Not that I've done either one all _that_ much. You know it's not easy to find a time and place at Hogwarts that's private enough, some teacher is bound to happen along at the wrong moment."

"Or a prefect," Harry agreed. He looked thoughtful. "I think... I think I'd like to have you be top, this time, since you know more of what you're doing. I'd be afraid I might hurt you."

"Aren't you worried that _I'll_ hurt _you_?"

Harry shook his head. "I trust you. Besides," a smile flickered across his face, "doesn't that Vow you took mean you _can't_ hurt me?"

"I don't know if it works quite like that," Draco said, surprised. "Merlin knows I don't want to hurt you, and if it should I'd stop, but I think you'd have to let me know." He took a breath. "Now that we have that discussion out of the way, though..."

He reached for Harry, who gave him another smile and moved closer until they were pressed together, belly to belly and hip to hip. His skin felt so good against Draco's, cool at first but quickly warming as they began to move against each other, kissing and touching. Harry moaned a little when Draco bit gently at his neck, and his prick was hot and hard, nudging Draco's own. There wasn't quite the frantic urgency that had possessed them both during Hermione's spell earlier that afternoon, but Draco was just as glad of that. He had promised himself to do his best to make sure that Harry enjoyed it if they ever did have sex, so having a bit more control was good.

Harry's fingers were pressed against the back of Draco's head, urging him to tilt it up again, and when he did Harry's mouth met his, tongues twining and tracing each other's lips. Harry put his arm around Draco's waist, his hand sliding down to clasp the cheek of Draco's arse, kneading, pulling him even closer. He broke off the kiss to whisper in Draco's ear, "More. Please. I need... I need you." The breath on his ear and neck tickled, but Draco held back his laughter.

"Me, too," he agreed. "If you move to your hands and knees, I can get you ready." He would have liked to have Harry face him, but he had more experience this way, and hoped he'd be able to give Harry the most pleasure.

In the event, he was not altogether successful, coming in a rush of pleasure with Harry's name on his lips before he managed to get Harry to feel the same.

A distressed sound from Harry brought him back to his senses, murmuring, "Sorry, I'm so sorry, are you all right?" He pulled out as quickly and gently as he could, and Harry took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I'm okay." He collapsed forward and rolled over to gaze at Draco. "It wasn't quite what I expected, and it did hurt a bit when you started to really move, but... I liked knowing you were so close. Does that make sense?" His eyes looked huge and greener than ever.

"Yeah." Draco lowered himself to the mattress and pressed against Harry, holding him tight. "I felt the same way, about being close to you that is. I'm sorry that it wasn't better for you..."

His apology was cut off by Harry's kiss. "It's all right, really." He shifted a bit, and Draco felt Harry's cock hard on his own thigh.

"Would you like me to suck you off?" Draco asked. "Or – only fair – do you want to try going inside _me_, now that you know what it's like?"

"I, uh... I'll try it," Harry decided. His voice was wistful as he added, "But I wish I could see your face."

"Oh, you can." Draco wriggled into an appropriate position, and Harry proceeded with little finesse but a great deal of tender enthusiasm. He didn't last long, only a couple of minutes, before he came as well.

Draco let his legs relax and rest on the bed, before rolling over to put his arm around Harry.

"Wow." Harry breathed the word quietly. "I didn't know it would be like _that_."

Note: A more explicit version of this chapter is available on my website.


	35. Back Home

**35. Back Home**

Draco sounded just as desperate as Harry himself. "Merlin, yes. Tonight." He blew a stray strand of fair hair off his forehead with a puff of breath, and Harry repressed a strong urge to drag him down to the ground and give those temptingly parted lips a thorough snogging. The desire must have shown in his face, despite his attempts to breathe evenly.

"Think of Filch and Pince together," advised Draco as he stood.

With a snort, Harry said, "_That's_ a revolting thought."

"Which is why it will work," said Draco, biting his lip. He touched his left arm with a frown as they walked across the garden.

Harry wondered if Draco still felt some pain from the Mark's removal. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I'd just rather be going home, that's all."

So would Harry. It was odd to think of the Black house as "home," but what other place was? Certainly not Number Four, Privet Drive, and Harry had already decided not to return to Hogwarts. Much though he enjoyed visiting the Burrow and loved the Weasleys, this wasn't home either.

But it _was_ familiar, and Harry looked around the comfortable shabby room while Ginny described the possible Horcrux-dissolving potions she and Ron had found. When Draco remarked that he wished he could ask Snape about one of them, a predictable squabble ensued between him and Ron, with Ron accusing Draco of planning to betray Harry, impossible though that was with the Vow he had taken.

To Harry's surprise, Draco described the Vow to Ginny to explain why he couldn't contact Snape if it might put Harry at risk. Harry was just as glad there was no chance of that; it wasn't as if he'd ever gotten along well with Snape. But he seized the opportunity to suggest that if they were going to start trying to brew the potion the Weasleys had found, he and Draco had better leave.

Ron tried to persuade him to stay for supper; Hermione, though, said nothing, and Ginny made no more than a token objection to his departure. Looking at her, Harry's heart twisted. She had been quieter than usual all day, and had let Draco sit between them at the midday meal. Hermione had guessed what was developing between himself and Draco, and Harry wondered if perhaps Ginny had too. There was nothing he could say to explain, not here in the Burrow in front of Ron.

"I'd better go thank your mum and dad for having us," Harry said abruptly. "Back in a minute."

The elder Weasleys were in the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley setting potatoes to peel and her husband telling her about a self-heating tea cosy that had been brought in to his office the week before.

"Do you have to go so soon, dear?" Mrs. Weasley sounded disappointed.

"Yeah," said Harry, "but I wanted to say thanks for inviting us over today." He suddenly remembered what Draco had suggested earlier about getting tickets to a Quidditch match. "Oh, and one other thing. Draco thought that Ron and Ginny and Hermione might like to see the Cannons-Puddlemere game next weekend; would it be all right if he ordered tickets for the five of you? If you don't have something else planned already?"

Mr. Weasley's face lit up. "That would be splendid fun."

Mrs. Weasley was less enthusiastic, saying, "It's a very generous gesture, but I'm not sure..."

"Oh, Molly, if the boy wants to do this, why not? Good for him, I say. Will you and he be coming along as well, Harry?"

"No, I don't think so," Harry said. "It wouldn't be safe for Draco – he might be recognized by Death Eaters – and I'd feel awfully mean going and leaving him stuck alone in the Black house; you know how gloomy it is there. Another time, maybe. But you'll go if he sends the tickets?"

Arthur Weasley nodded vigorously, shushing his wife when she opened her mouth again. "It's to be a surprise for the children, I take it? No worries. We'll manage."

"Great." Harry smiled, relieved. "I'd better be off, I have a potion brewing that needs some attention soon."

He repeated his farewells quickly and went back to Draco, who looked quite ready to leave. Stepping out of the Floo and brushing the ash from his clothes, he felt much more relaxed. "It's good to be home, isn't it?"

Draco's eyes widened. "I..."

The high voice of Dobby broke in, apologizing that dinner would not be ready for nearly two hours, and Harry forgot to ask Draco afterward what he'd been about to say. Instead, since time permitted, they quickly took care of the potions before hurrying up to the bedroom. Once there, nervousness made Harry fumble as he started to take off his clothes.

"We don't have to do this, remember." Draco looked uncomfortable, too, which made Harry feel somewhat better.

"I want to. Really," Harry assured Draco, and pulled off his own trousers.

Indeed his cock was telling him in no uncertain terms that it was very much looking forward to this when Draco said, "Oh, blast it, no lube. This lotion's not really slippery enough."

"Hang on." Harry could feel his face heat up as he admitted, "I have some; Seamus gave it to me last Christmas, as a joke gift, but I, er, tried it out." He'd used quite a bit over the months, in fact, about half of the good-sized bottle, which he now tossed to Draco.

"Ew, melon," said Draco, sniffing it. "I suppose I should be glad it's not strawberry." He had already crawled up on the bed. "Come on then."

Taking off his glasses and handing them to Draco, who was on the side by the nightstand, Harry made himself bring up the matter that most concerned him. "We, we haven't talked about who would..." He gestured vaguely with his hands, not sure how to say it.

"Who would top and who would bottom?" Draco didn't seem bothered about speaking the blunt words. "I don't much care, to be honest. I suppose you might feel more comfortable topping; it's more like what you probably expected if you've mostly thought about having sex with girls."

Harry considered it. What Draco said was true, and yet... he'd never had sex like this with anyone, just hands and mouths and so on, which _was_ sex, he supposed, but not the same. It worried him. What if he did something wrong? He'd heard Oliver and Fred and George talking in the showers after Quidditch, stories about blokes who'd been so excited that they hadn't even managed to get their pricks inside their girlfriends' pussies before they came. He thought he couldn't stand the embarrassment if that happened to him. Especially since an arsehole must be tighter than a cunt, and more difficult to get into. His prick throbbed at the thought. No. He shook his head and said, "I think I'd rather have you be top, you've done it before and know what to do. I might hurt you or something."

"Aren't you afraid that _I'll_ hurt _you_?" Draco's voice was surprised. "Most blokes think bottoming will be less fun... though I'd disagree, myself."

"I trust you," Harry said. He ran his fingers through his hair and added, "Besides, doesn't the Unbreakable Vow mean you _can't_ hurt me?"

"I don't think it works quite like that; if I hurt you, doing this, it would be unintentional. But if it's what you want..." Draco reached out and pulled Harry in close for a kiss.

Before long he was biting at Harry's neck, pushing his cock against Harry's. It felt so good that Harry thought he wouldn't be able to wait, not if Draco kept rubbing against him that way, and having decided that he wanted Draco to fuck him he didn't want to risk Draco feeling the same way and coming too soon. He ran his hands across Draco's back, with his right hand nudging Draco to tilt his head up for a deep and desperate kiss, with the left drawing Draco's arse closer.

"Please... more. I need... need you." It was a confession, desire spiked with apprehension that he hoped Draco would not sense.

The reply – "Me, too" – reassured him, and when Draco told him to roll onto his hands and knees he did so. He gasped at the sensation, but Draco held back until he was ready, then finished quickly if rather too fast for Harry to really enjoy it.

"Sorry, oh Harry, I'm sorry, are you all right?" Draco withdrew at last, letting Harry shift and roll over to look over at him.

"It wasn't quite what I thought it would be like," Harry admitted. "But... I liked the feeling of how close you were."

"So did I." Draco's voice was low and thoughtful. "I wish it had been better for you."

That was silly. Harry leaned over and kissed him, hard. "It's all right." He rubbed his still-unspent cock against Draco's thigh.

"Shall I suck you off?" Draco offered. "Or, let's be fair, do you want to fuck _me_ now that you know what it's like?"

Harry did, but... "I'd rather be able to see your face."

"If I raise my legs up enough, we can be face to face. But stretch me first, the way I did you," said Draco, passing Harry the bottle of lube.

Carefully Harry imitated what Draco had done, feeling clumsy but reassured by Draco's encouragement. "Draco!" He spilled, gasping, hearing Draco's breathing, half-pant half-grunt, in rhythm with his own.

"Wow." He couldn't think of a better word. "I didn't know it would be like _that_."

Draco put his arms around Harry. "Yeah."

They lay there together, Harry's head resting against Draco's shoulder, bony but surprisingly comfortable. He had nearly dozed off when Draco said, regret lacing his voice, "I suppose we'd better go have dinner."

"Oh. Yeah." Harry sat up and reached for his glasses, settling them on his nose. He thought about taking a shower, but decided not to bother. Dobby would be disappointed if they were late for dinner, and it was almost six o'clock.

He watched Draco during the meal, his eyes flicking between the clean pale skin of Draco's left forearm and Draco's face, which was down turned, looking at his plate except for occasional glances over at Harry.

"What is it?" asked Draco abruptly when he had only a few bites left. "Do I have a giant spot on my nose or something?"

"No." Happiness sang through Harry; Draco was smiling despite his rather sarcastic words. "No, I was just thinking how great it is that you're free of the Mark now."

"I'll still have to worry about being spotted by Death Eaters, though it's nice to think I can't be summoned. But it's not like I'm suddenly safe, any more than you are."

"Together we can manage, I'm sure. We worked out the _Permutatio_ spell, found and recognized a Horcrux; we'll find a way to destroy it soon. And then the rest of them. I can't say I look forward to facing Voldemort" – his recent nightmares bore witness to that – "but neither of us is going to be completely free until he's defeated, and all his allies too. Until then we have to enjoy the good moments we get – and tonight was one of those." Harry shifted in his seat; his arse was rather sore, but he didn't care. He grinned at Draco. "Really good."

"It was, wasn't it?" Draco finished his last forkful and licked his lips. "So. Did you have anything else urgent that you wanted to do tonight?"

Harry laughed. "Work on the potions we have already in progress, and start brewing the one that Ginny and Ron found, I guess. But after that – no."

"Excellent," said Draco. He stood up and came around behind Harry to whisper in his ear. "I don't know why it is, Potter, but I'm awfully keen on shagging you again. Doesn't have to be the same as what we just did, though – I'm feeling a bit tender and I bet you are too."

"I am." Harry felt his face grow red. The thought of being inside Draco again was making him hard, but he wouldn't want to bottom again tonight himself and it wouldn't be fair to ask Draco to do so. "We'd... we'd better go deal with the potions first anyhow, like I said."

Dobby popped into the room to clear the dishes just as Harry was standing up. His stack of hats looked ready to tumble down as he bent his head to Harry's thanks for the delicious meal, saying, "Master Harry Potter has no need to thank Dobby. Dobby is pleased to cook for him and for Master Draco."

There was not much Harry could say to that, so he shrugged and smiled and went down to the cellar room with Draco.

"Which was the recipe? Oh, there it is, the one with the sea-holly," Draco muttered, flipping through the pages. "Right. That second potion we started before needs to be strained and then cooled slightly before mixing in the crushed lacewings; to you want to do that or start on grating the burdock root for this one?"

"I don't care. I'll strain the other, I guess," said Harry, and reached for the chinois. When the gelatinous mixture was dripping into a clean bowl, he sneaked a look at Draco, admiring the precise motions of his hands as he prepared all the ingredients needed for the first stage of brewing Ginny's recipe. Snape had always openly favored Draco in Potions class, but watching now without his old dislike coloring his perception, Harry realized that Draco was in fact more than competent, as good as Hermione or perhaps even a touch better, at this particular branch of magic.

"What?" Draco had noticed Harry staring at him again.

"Nothing," Harry mumbled, turning away and pretending to search for the packet of lacewings. He tipped out a handful into the mortar and began crushing them with far more force than necessary. "Just hoping that _one_ of these potions works on the Horcrux, since we're putting so much effort into them."

"I'm sure one will eventually," said Draco with quiet confidence. He looked up, caught Harry's gaze, and shrugged, his face pink. "You're _Harry Potter_, after all."

"Doesn't mean I lead a charmed life." Harry found himself unexpectedly defensive, even angry. "My mum and dad died, you'll remember."

"But that prophecy..."

"Only says that it'll be either me or Voldemort, it's hardly a guarantee that I'll beat him." He shivered and absentmindedly reached for a spoon.

"I refuse to believe that you won't," said Draco, worrying at the edge of his lower lip. Then his eyes slid to Harry's hands. "Wait!" His voice was sharp. "Don't stir that yet, not until you've added the lacewings. Come on, Harry, you were in N.E.W.T.-level Potions, you should know better than that. Gra... Hermione might have helped you along the way, but you had to pass the O.W.L. on your own."

"Oh. Yeah, right," Harry muttered, and thumped the pestle in the mortar again, annoyed with Draco for pointing out his mistake, but more with himself for having made it.

"Harry..." Draco had moved around the table and put a hand on Harry's other arm. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I just don't want either of us to make a mistake so that we'd have to start the potion again, because I know you want to get this Horcrux destroyed as quickly as you can. It'll be all right."

It still felt strange to have Draco reassuring instead of criticizing, and Harry didn't quite trust himself to speak. He just nodded, still grinding away at the lacewings.

"They're crushed enough, I think," said Draco. "Here." He lifted the chinois away and pushed the bowl towards Harry, who stirred the powder in.

"Does it matter how many times I stir, for this recipe?"

"Twenty-one, clockwise, and then seventeen counterclockwise," was the answer as Draco ran his finger along the directions. "Then heat it once again and simmer for ten minutes. After that it needs to rest for fifteen hours and finally have the armadillo bile added, but we'll be able to test it tomorrow."

"Good," said Harry. "The one you're starting is a fairly quick one too, isn't it?"

"Mm. Yes. Probably be ready Wednesday. But the third recipe from before will take a few days beyond that. These dissolving potions mostly do seem to take several days at least, don't they?"

"I wonder if it's because they go against nature," Harry said thoughtfully. "Remus mentioned once that the Wolfsbane Potion is very difficult to brew, and that _certainly_ has an effect contrary to his nature. He couldn't make it himself, in fact; Snape did it for him, at least while he was at Hogwarts."

"So there's something you'd say was good about Professor Snape." Draco had tilted his head and was looking at Harry sideways, even as he measured and poured and stirred.

"That, and... he told you to come find me. Which at first I would have held against him, but not anymore." Harry adjusted the flame under the cauldron to keep the thick mixture from simmering too fast. "Though that's not to say I think he's a wonderful person – he _did_ kill Dumbledore."

"I know," said Draco. "To keep me from having to do it. And..." He paused long enough for Harry to look over and see his throat working. "It wasn't easy for him, I'm sure of that. He'd probably hate that I'm telling you this, but I saw him the next day. He thought I was asleep, and he was actually crying. His face was wet. It was awful. Then later I tried to talk to him about it and he cut me off, said in his most sneering voice, 'Professor Dumbledore required me to act as I did, both for your sake and for his own. He was dying in any case; I merely hastened the inevitable. Now let it lie.' So I did, nothing else I could do then. It wasn't long after that he told me to go look for you, without giving me any ideas as to where."

Harry was struck by the simplicity with which Draco described Snape's reaction to killing Dumbledore. Maybe it was even the truth. He shook his head, not really wanting to believe, and looked at his potion. It had thickened even further and was now a pale green. Taking it off the flame, Harry covered the cauldron and left it to itself until the next day.

"Are you almost finished?" he asked Draco.

"A few minutes. You could measure out the sea-holly root for me, that's the last thing to be added now." He bent over the mixture, counting below his breath as he stirred. "Sift it in slowly, please?"

"Right." Harry tapped the spoon against the cauldron's rim, letting the powder drift down to the surface where it dissolved. "That's it."

Draco straightened up and stretched, his arms behind his head and his hands gripping his elbows. As he did so his shirt pulled up from his trousers, a triangle of skin showing where the fabric gaped around the buttons. "Now, I think there'd been some mention of shagging again?"

"You were the one who said it, not me," said Harry, unable to take his eyes off that pale flesh at Draco's waist. "Not that I've any objection." In fact, just the thought was enough to make his cock start to feel uncomfortably confined. It was very like when he first was going out with Ginny, except that then, at Hogwarts, he'd been wearing school robes all the time and so it was easier to hide his reactions. Not to mention that they'd had far fewer opportunities to kiss, much less do more. Here... he could see Draco's glance flicker to the telltale bulge at Harry's groin.

"Apparently not." Draco smirked a little, but without malice, and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. "Let's go back to our room, shall we?"

A shiver of pleasure went through Harry at hearing Draco say "our room" in such a matter-of-fact voice. "Let's," he agreed. He was tempted to start snogging Draco right there, but feared that if he did they wouldn't make it back to the bedroom. The stone floor of the cellar looked awfully cold and hard as a place for any serious fooling around. Instead he grabbed Draco's hand and tugged at him. "C'mon."

They raced upstairs, bumping and jostling, Harry enjoying the sheer contact – it didn't matter what noise they made, the only other living thing in the house was Dobby, and Harry had accepted that house-elves genuinely didn't care about such matters, just as Draco had said. Laughing, Harry threw open the door to the room and flung himself onto the bed, Draco only an instant after him, and they rolled over in a complicated tangle until Draco suddenly tightened his hold and pinned Harry under him, panting.

Harry looked up into the grey eyes and smiled. Draco's hair hung down around his face, almost hiding the silver skull in his right ear; it was an uncommonly disheveled look for him, but a good one, and Harry said so.

"Why didn't I ever notice you like this at Hogwarts?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You loathed my guts at Hogwarts. With some reason, I'll admit. Not exactly circumstances congenial to admiration; and you had a girlfriend as well."

"Two, actually," Harry said. "Cho, sort of, and then Ginny."

He regretted saying that almost immediately, because Draco repeated, "Ginny, yes," and rolled away.

"I know I shouldn't ask, but... what about Ginny?" Draco asked. He lay next to Harry, his shoulders stiff.

"You know we broke up," said Harry, in some confusion. "Months ago. I'm sure I told you that."

"Yeah, but you broke it off because you were worried that she could be in danger if it were known the two of you were going out. You did it _because_ you cared for her, not because you _didn't_." Draco's voice sliced the words into sharp ribbons. "So do you?"

"Care for her?" Harry scarcely needed to think. "Of course I do. I love her." He plunged on, speaking over the look of hurt on Draco's face. "I love her, and Ron, and Hermione... and you, too."

"Not all in the same way, I hope?" Draco had turned his face away. "I'd rather regret being considered on the same plane as... as Ron Weasley. No offense."

"No. Hermione and Ron are just friends." He cleared his throat, remembering that there had been a few things that were more than "just friends" with Ron... but those weren't really important, were they? Just experimenting, as any two best mates might.

"Ginny – all I can say is that I don't know anymore. You've confused me. I thought I knew who I was, what I wanted, but now I'm just not sure." Harry took a deep breath. "A month ago I had everything planned out. I'd visit Godric's Hollow where my parents died, and then go after the Horcruxes. Once those were destroyed, I'd have to face Voldemort eventually... and assuming I succeeded in doing for him before he did for me, I'd marry Ginny and settle down, get a job at the Ministry of Magic or something. You've complicated things. Not that that's necessarily _bad_, but... it does make everything I once depended on as solid and unchanging become a lot more insecure."

Harry reached to grab Draco's hand. "Don't crowd me about this just now, please? I like having you here, very much." He could feel his face heating as he said it. "I like having sex with you. I like... no. I love you."

Draco turned back to look at him wide-eyed, the pupils so dilated that his eyes looked black rather than grey. "Do you mean that?" The words were demanding, but the tone nearly wistful.

"Yes." Harry gave him a crooked grin. "I'm in trouble, I think. Not supposed to be in love with two people at once, am I?" And if Draco stayed here for a while, as was almost certain – where else could he go and be safe? – Harry suspected that it would be _one_ person he would be in love with after all, and that person would be Draco. A shudder gripped him. Ginny had always been very understanding; she'd agreed to break up for her own protection, but they had had a tacit agreement that someday, when it was safe, they would get back together. So how could she cope with _this_?

Note: A more explicit version of this chapter is available on my website, 


	36. The Back Garden at Grimmauld Place

**36. The Back Garden at Grimmauld Place**

Harry had curled up against him; his face was rough against the skin of Draco's shoulder, but Draco had no wish to move. It was only with reluctance that he reminded Harry that it was dinnertime, and then only because his stomach had begun to rumble.

Being watched so hungrily – no other word did Harry's attitude justice – through the meal ought to have been disconcerting. Draco asked at one point if it was a spot on his nose that made Harry stare that way.

"I'm just glad you're free of the Mark, that's all. I know we're not completely safe yet, but we worked out the _Permutatio_ and we'll destroy the Horcruxes, too, and then after that I'll face Voldemort." Harry's voice was determined, even if he shifted uncomfortably as he spoke. "Until then we can at least enjoy the good moments, like we have tonight."

"Mm. It _was_ good, wasn't it?" Draco grinned, setting down his fork on his now-empty plate and walking around behind Harry to whisper, "I'd be awfully keen on shagging you again, Potter. Or something along those lines... have to admit I'm a bit sore, and I suppose you are too."

"We'd better deal with these potions first. Start the one Ginny found." Harry's face had gone crimson at Draco's suggestion, but his lips parted when Draco gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Working on brewing the several potions ended up trying Draco's patience. Harry kept sneaking looks at him. Fine in itself, but it was distracting Harry from the task at hand, and Draco had no particular wish to have to start all over again because Harry bungled some aspect of preparation. He snapped at Harry to pay attention and then had to apologize, which he did mean, he found. He didn't want to make Harry feel small, only to ensure that they were each doing their best. Then he had to find something neutral to say to continue the conversation.

"This one will probably be ready Wednesday," Draco remarked as he worked. On the whole these dissolving potions do seem to take at least a few days to brew, don't they?"

"I wonder if that's because they act contrary to the nature of the thing acted on. I know Wolfsbane Potion is tricky and takes a long time to brew, and it has an effect contrary to a werewolf's nature. Remus said he had to have Snape brew it for him at Hogwarts because he didn't have the skill to make it himself."

Draco was surprised to hear Harry speculate on the theory behind any sort of potion-making. He'd never thought Harry had any real interest in the basic principles, instead just following the instructions to earn the marks he needed for the class. That particular idea was dead wrong, of course. Nearly all magic operated contrary to the nature of the affected object; that was the _point_ of magic.

Hearing Harry say something positive about Professor Snape was also unexpected, and Draco couldn't refrain from commenting on that.

"Making the Wolfsbane Potion for Remus is the one good thing I can say about him. Well, that, and that he told you to come find me." Harry avoided looking at Draco and fiddled with the flame under his cauldron. "But he did still kill Dumbledore."

"So that I wouldn't have to," said Draco. "And..." He paused. Should he tell Harry what he'd seen? Professor Snape was an intensely private person and doubtless would hate having what he'd consider a weakness revealed, but... Draco swallowed. If it made Harry judge the man more fairly, it was worth the risk.

"It wasn't easy for him, I know that." Draco spoke in a quiet voice, scarcely louder than the bubbling of his potion. "The next day, when he thought I was asleep, he wept. It was awful. He cut me off when I tried to... to be sympathetic. You know how he can sneer. He said, 'Professor Dumbledore required me to act as I did, for both your sake and his. Leave it be.' So I did, and not long afterward he sent me to find you."

He watched the emotions flicker across Harry's face, disbelief and anger and then again doubt. Harry shook his head as if trying to dislodge a chizpurfle, and covered his own cauldron silently before helping Draco add the final ingredients he needed to incorporate that day.

When they had finished, Draco stretched and said, "I believe you made mention of shagging?"

"_You_ said that." Harry might pretend to object, but Draco could see the fabric of his jeans pull tighter across his crotch. "Not that I mind."

"So it would seem. Shall we go back to our room?" He liked saying that, Draco decided. _Our room_ had a nice sound to it.

"Yeah. Come on."

They raced up the stairs; it was rather like playing Quidditch and jostling for the Snitch, except that here any kind of body contact was fair, in fact that was the whole point. Harry won, just by an instant, but Draco was close enough behind to be able to pounce on him and pin him down on the bed.

Green eyes stared up at Draco. "Why didn't I ever notice you like this at Hogwarts?"

"Because you loathed me there, you prat." Though Draco had to admit, "With reason. Plus, Hogwarts isn't really a place to admire other blokes, even if you hadn't had a girlfriend."

"Two, actually. Cho and then Ginny."

"Ginny. Yes." Draco rolled off Harry and lay next to him, stiff with a resentment he didn't want to acknowledge. "I shouldn't ask, but what _about_ Ginny?"

"We broke up months ago. I know I told you that. The two of us talked about just yesterday," Harry said.

Draco couldn't stop the words from spilling out. "You broke up because you thought she'd be in danger if you didn't. You did it _because_ you cared for her. Do you still?"

Distantly he thought that his father would disapprove – _You mustn't let yourself appear vulnerable_, Lucius Malfoy would say, holding a glass to the light to admire the blood-red vintage it held, _or you'll lose any advantage you might have had._ Draco wanted to contradict the memory – that wouldn't work with Harry, Draco was certain – but Harry was speaking, he hadn't even needed a second to think about his answer.

"Of course. I love her."

The words sliced into Draco like slivers of glass. So he'd been wrong, after all.

Harry continued, "Just as I love Ron and Hermione and you, too."

Perhaps there was some hope. "Not all in the same way, I trust?" Draco tried to keep his tone light, casual. "I'd rather not be on a par with Ron Weasley, no offense."

"No, Hermione and Ron are just friends. With me, that is, I think they're more than friends with each other." Harry's voice cracked a little, then. "But Ginny... I don't know any more. I used to know exactly what I was going to do, or at least try to do, and if I succeeded I'd marry Ginny and settle down, maybe work at the Ministry. Lead a boring, uncomplicated, _normal_ life. Now everything I depended on as certain is a lot more insecure, and a lot of that's due to you. Which isn't necessarily _bad_, but... don't push me on this now, please?"

Draco felt Harry's hand, warm and sweaty, close on his own.

"I like having you here with me. I like having sex with you. I like... no. I love you."

At that Draco had to look at him. "Do you mean that?" He didn't want to disbelieve Harry, but he had to be completely sure Harry didn't mean that he loved Draco the way that he loved Ron Weasley, either.

"Yes," said Harry with a crooked smile that made Draco realize that if he'd made himself vulnerable earlier, Harry was returning the compliment. "I'm in love with you. I think I'm in trouble, being in love with two people at once. What do you think?"

Thinking was not high on Draco's list of priorities just then; he wasted to shout across the rooftops that Harry Potter loved him, and then have them shag themselves silly. Neither of which things was practical to do, the first being dangerous and the second rather uncomfortable at the moment. He settled for a thorough bout of snogging instead, stopping when they were rutting against each other only long enough to say, "I think we're both in enough trouble that it doesn't really matter," and then sliding a hand between them to press against the hot hard length of Harry's cock through his clothes.

Harry hissed in a breath. "Maybe not. God, oh.." His hips bucked forward as Draco deftly undid his trousers and tugged them down together with his underpants.

"Wait," said Draco. "Want to take a shower?"

"_Now?_" Harry's voice was incredulous.

"Together, I mean." Draco touched him, thumb stroking along the shaft. "I feel rather on the grimy side, and to be honest I'm tired. If I don't shower now I think I'll fall asleep after, and then it'll feel disgusting in the morning. We've done an awful lot today."

"True enough," Harry agreed. "Hermione got rid of your Mark, we played some Quidditch, brewed potions..."

"Shagged," interjected Draco. "So. Shower?"

"All right," said Harry. He wriggled and finished divesting himself of his trousers, then the rest of his clothes.

Quickly Draco did the same, still watching Harry. He really was well worth looking at, shorter than Draco himself but more strongly built; even if he seemed chronically underfed and skinny with it, his shoulders were broader than they looked in those overlarge shirts he seemed to wear all the time.

When they were both naked, Draco put his arms around Harry and whispered in his ear, "What do you want to do?"

"I thought we were showering together?"

"Yes, of course, but... oh, never mind. Come on."

The shower was not designed to hold two people, naturally, but Draco considered that an advantage under the circumstances. He ran his hands over Harry's chest, slippery with the hot water, then reached for the soap and began to wash him. He'd done this with Miles once or twice after Quidditch practice, after the rest of the team had gone. It was a good excuse to touch the other bloke all over, learn something of which spots were most sensitive or ticklish... knowledge that might be useful in all sorts of situations.

Harry responded with all the enthusiasm Draco could have asked for, arching into Draco's touch, turning around so that Draco could reach every inch of his skin, even holding up his legs for equal attention to those and his feet. His eyes were closed against the hot spray and he hummed in his throat as Draco's hands moved, slicking his body with the lather and then rinsing it away.

"Nice, hm?" Draco pulled a now-clean Harry against him, back to belly, finally running one hand over Harry's cock, which sprang back to full attention at once. Draco's own erection had flagged as well but now returned, poking insistently into the firm rounded flesh of Harry's arse.

"Mm. Yeah. Please, Draco," said Harry, pushing urgently into Draco's hand. "God, that's... oh _please_..."

If he had not been bound by the Unbreakable Vow to help Harry, to have him like this would have been a great triumph – the Chosen One, begging for Draco to give him pleasure. Even as it was, Draco felt a thrill that was only partly his own arousal, partly also the knowledge that he, _he_, was making Harry so excited that he was pleading for more. The idea of it was almost dizzying in its power. Draco gave a twist to each stroke over Harry's cock and was rewarded by a soft cry.

"Yeah... more please... want you so much," Harry panted, his hips bucking into Draco's hand.

"Want you too, Harry," he said, low, against Harry's neck. "Just you... come on, come with me, yeah, that's right, come on," he crooned, feeling the heat surge within him as all the blood in his body seemed to rush to his groin. As the orgasm hit he bit into Harry's shoulder, and Harry's cock convulsed in Draco's hand.

"Oh, _fuck_, yeah," were Harry's words as Draco released his hold. He turned and wrapped his arms around Draco, kissing Draco's mouth. "I suppose you want to actually wash," he mumbled between kisses.

"Probably," Draco agreed, sucking at Harry's tongue. "That was supposed to be the point. But you can do it if you'd like?"

Harry was a bit less practiced at washing someone else than Draco. He also had to hurry a bit toward the end as it seemed that whatever charm the Black family had used to obtain their hot water, it had worn down somewhat over the years. Nevertheless Draco enjoyed Harry's attentions very much.

Back in their room, clean and dry and wearing the green t-shirt Harry had given him – it seemed much longer ago than the twelve days it had been since they had stayed with the Grangers – Draco spooned up behind Harry in the bed and put his arms around him. Harry made no objection, only wriggled a bit to get into a more comfortable position, then put his hand over Draco's. It was odd, Draco mused; he felt protective and protected, both at once, wrapped around Harry like this.

"We've nothing to do for the next few days except brew and test those potions, have we?"

Harry's shoulders moved in a shrug. "You were going to send off for those tickets to the Cannons-Puddlemere match, but that's not exactly a major time commitment. Why?"

"Mm. Just thinking about how to fill the all those empty hours." Draco rubbed his thumb over the thin cotton of Harry's pyjama shirt, finding one nipple through the fabric.

A laugh quivered in Harry's voice as he said, "Yeah, I thought so. But we _should_ do some practice with hexes and jinxes again, and counters to them. Haven't done that in more than a week. You ought to work on conjuring your Patronus, too." He sounded suddenly serious. "You never know, it could save your life – it has mine, more than once. But there should still be plenty of time for..." He trailed off and nudged his arse against Draco.

"For shagging. Good." It wasn't that Draco minded any of the rest; he acknowledged that under the circumstances it made good sense to keep in practice with both offensive and defensive magic. He just wanted to be sure that Harry was interested in keeping on having sex.

"You don't really think I'm likely to turn that down, do you? No more than you would, you great prat." Harry put his hand over Draco's and squeezed.

Draco supposed he should object to the insult, but he was seized by a yawn that nearly split his face in two, and the next thing he knew it was morning.

After breakfast he borrowed Harry's white owl and sent off for the Quidditch tickets, paying the extra Sickles needed to have them delivered to the Weasley house no later than Wednesday. The message he wrote to go with them was nothing elaborate, merely, _In thanks for all your hospitality, Draco Malfoy_. He watched the owl fly away and ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at his earring and giving a regretful sigh.

"I wish we could go, too," Harry said.

"_You_ could," Draco pointed out. "I could easily order one more ticket tomorrow."

"No." Harry shook his head. "It wouldn't be right. We'll do it someday, though, after... after everything's over."

"Would you go with just me, not with all the Weasleys along?"

"Of course," said Harry, looking at him strangely.

Draco nodded. He stopped himself from thinking wistfully of going on a proper date with Harry – just spending time together, having fun. Even if it weren't dangerous, he'd have to think twice. A Malfoy, publicly queer? He could almost see the headlines in the _Prophet_. Perhaps it was for the best that they had no choice right not. "Of course. Right. Well, shall we get on with the potions, then? As the first step toward 'everything being over,' as you put it."

Working on the various potions took less than an hour of the morning, and then Harry suggested they adjourn to the back garden to practice their hexes.

"Patronus this afternoon, perhaps," he said.

That was fine with Draco. He was a little nervous about the Patronus charm, even though he'd managed to conjure his successfully before. But it was distinctly more difficult than the average jinx or countercurse, that was for certain.

He managed to catch Harry off-guard with a well-placed Jellylegs Jinx almost immediately, but a Stinging Hex brushed his own leg shortly after, leaving it tingling and feeling raw. Draco ignored the pain and kept firing a steady stream of hexes at Harry, both of them dodging around the overgrown garden, using the half-wild shrubs and unpruned trees for cover. Harry nearly fell over a bronze statue of a fox that was hidden by a mass of unkempt ivy, and Draco paused to let him recover his balance.

"Don't _do_ that." Harry frowned and cast a Body-Bind Curse that Draco was unable to dodge; he fell over and glared as best he could given that he could hardly see any higher than Harry's knees. "If your enemy has trouble, take advantage of it. _Finite Incantatem_."

Draco exhaled and scrambled to his feet, then moved to sit on a stained marble bench. A good thing it _was_ marble, not wood, or it would long ago have rotted away.

"I know." And he did know; he had heard the same thing from childhood. "It's just... it's hard for me to treat you like an enemy now." More than once he'd felt an inexplicable hesitation as he readied a hex to send at Harry, especially those that caused the recipient physical discomfort, like the Conjunctivitis Curse. "Maybe the Vow is having some effect, I'm not sure."

"That could be." Harry sat down next to him. "You know far more about Unbreakable Vows than I do, so I'll take your word on it."

"I don't know _that_ much, just what's commonly understood. What I really ought to do is write down what I said – I think I can remember the exact words, and maybe Hermione could double-check, and you too – and analyze it carefully, see what possible ambiguities and loopholes there might be." Draco smiled at Harry's expression of horrified dismay. "Come on, Harry, didn't six years of study teach you that magic may be largely an art involving inborn ability, but it requires a certain amount of precision as well for true success? No wonder you never took Arithmancy."

"If I ever need Arithmancy for anything, I'll get Hermione to help me," Harry grumbled. "Or you. I've done just fine so far with my own methods; I've stood up to Voldemort more than once already, as you know."

"Yes, well, it won't be just him, it'll be all his Death Eaters too, when you confront him. Or so I would bet." Those Death Eaters would doubtless include Lucius Malfoy. Draco swallowed hard at the thought, and looked down.

Harry seemed to have guessed what Draco was thinking. "The only person I have to destroy – the only one I _want_ to – is Voldemort himself. I'd rather not fight Death Eaters if it's not necessary, and I certainly don't want to kill them; without him they're not nearly the same threat. I don't think. Your parents – your father – well, you know him, I don't. What's he likely to do?"

"If you defeat You-Know-Who?" Draco gave a weak chuckle. Given that I'm working to help _you_ now, I imagine he'll try to claim that was his intention all along, that he was forced to do what he did under the Imperius Curse. Just as he did in the last war."

"Is it true? Was he under Imperius then? Is he now?" Harry's eyes were serious, if hard to see as the sunlight reflected off his glasses.

Draco raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I doubt it. But I can't exactly prove it one way or the other." He sighed. "I don't want You-Know-Who to win, you know that. I want _you_ to, and I'm sworn now to help you. But neither do I want my father to rot in Azkaban, Dementors or no."

"That's understandable," Harry said. "If my parents were in a situation like that, it'd be awfully hard to decide what to do. _Very_ hard to decide to choose a different loyalty from theirs." He made a gesture as if he wanted to take Draco's hand, but didn't quite finish it, and it was Draco who reached to take Harry's, instead. "So... thanks. For coming to me. Trusting me."

"Yeah. Well." Draco was quiet, his thumb stroking over Harry's wrist, thinking of his parents, trying not to think that he might never see them again. He couldn't completely abandon them and their ideals, the love of family they'd taught him, whatever happened... even if now he was fighting against the madman that Lucius Malfoy had chosen to follow. "Harry?"

"What?"

"If it... if it comes to that, would you do what you could to keep me safe?"

"Of course." Harry sounded indignant. "Why would you think anything else? What else have I been doing for the past fortnight?"

"I know. But... my parents? If there were fighting, but they – well, my father, I can't see my mother in battle – if he didn't actually attack _you_, what would you do?" Draco asked.

Harry shrugged. "I'd probably try to Stupefy or Body-Bind anyone who didn't seem like a direct threat. Easier, for one thing, and for another I don't know for certain who really _does_ support Voldemort wholeheartedly and who might be a spy – besides Snape – or pressured into it or genuinely under an Imperius. But anyone who attacks me or my friends... well, I'd fight back with whatever I could muster up."

Draco nodded. He knew that Harry wouldn't – couldn't – promise not to harm the elder Malfoys. He wouldn't, in Harry's place. There were too many unpredictable possibilities. Lucius Malfoy would have no qualms about attacking Harry, Draco was certain of that.

"But," said Harry.

"But what?"

Now Harry flushed and hesitated. "The Vow you took," he said. "If your father tried to curse me, and you were there – what would you do?"

"I would... I'd try to deflect the curse, or counter it." Draco could say that with certainty.

"What if the only thing you could do was to hex your father in return, though?" said Harry in an unhappy voice. "Or if you didn't know it was him doing it? Those masks and hats and robes are enough to disguise anyone."

"That's why I need to recall the exact wording of the Vow, write it down, memorize it to make absolutely sure of what it requires. Remember, it's my own life at stake here, Harry. If I break that Vow, I will _die_ – and my understanding is that it's not a pleasant death, it's feels something like burning and slow suffocation," Draco said.

Harry shuddered and said, "I wish I'd known that. I don't think I'd have let you take the Vow at all."

"You couldn't have stopped me very easily. I _wanted_ to take it, and I knew the risks," said Draco firmly. "Now. Let's practice summoning Patronuses instead, shall we? I don't really want to talk about this any more right now, it's far too dismal on such a beautiful day." Working on a spell he was unsure of suddenly sounded easier than trying to work out how to save his family.

"Okay." Harry sounded relieved. "Do you remember how to do it?"

"Think of a really happy memory, and the incantation is _Expecto Patronum_." Draco pulled out his wand. "Is the Patronus always in the same form?"

"Generally, although if there's some major upheaval in your life that can be reflected in the form of the Patronus. It happened to your cousin Tonks, but I don't think it's very common," said Harry.

"So I should expect it to be a badger, then. Oh well." It wasn't exactly what Draco would have hoped for. He'd have liked something a bit showier, like, well, a dragon – that would be appropriate – or perhaps a chimera, or at least a wildcat. A badger seemed so... ordinary. Like something that Weasley might have, or even Longbottom, if either of them could conjure a Patronus to begin with.

"I'd imagine so. Are you ready?"

"Yes." A happy thought – Draco's mind went unerringly to the night before, to the way he had felt when Harry was inside him, those green eyes locked on his own and shining with love and desire. That thought ought to be happy enough to conjure _two_ Patronuses, Draco considered. He gripped his wand and concentrated. "_Expecto Patronum_."

A quiver of air, a flash, and the silver form of the badger appeared, raising his great furry head to gaze at Draco, the white tips of his ears fairly shimmering.

"Oh, well done," crowed Harry, delight clear in his voice. "First try this time, well done!"

"What next?" asked Draco, his own throat harsh with the effort he'd made.

"Well, there's nothing here you need it to protect you from," Harry said. "The only other thing I know of is sending it to summon help, but who would you send it to?"

"I'm not sure." Draco watched as his Patronus moved around the garden, feeling oddly reluctant to let it go. "It wouldn't be prudent to send it to my father, that's certain, or my mother, either." He strongly suspected that Narcissa Malfoy knew that he was alive and well as of the time Professor Snape had sent him off, but she would be subject to a good deal of pressure from Voldemort if it were known that her son had contacted her in any way. "_You're_ already right here." He grinned wryly as Harry's eyes widened. "Maybe Professor Snape."

"Humph. Well." Harry raked his fingers through his hair, standing it even more on end than usual. "If you want to practice that part, sending for Snape would not be something I'd be keen on. I could go to the far end of the garden, maybe behind a tree or something, and you could try to get your Patronus to come find me. All you have to do is concentrate on the person you want to contact, on how much you need them, and tell it to go."

"That shouldn't be too difficult," said Draco. His tone was innocent, but he was unable to completely suppress a smirk.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him, but went off to stand behind an enormous cabbage rosebush with wormy-looking yellow flowers while Draco made the attempt.

The badger seemed almost to glow with a pale nimbus, difficult to see in the daylight, as Draco looked it in the eye. _I need Harry_, he thought at it. _Harry. Merlin, I really do – he's helped keep me from being found by Voldemort and the Death Eaters, it was his idea to try removing the Dark Mark, he makes me feel like I'm actually worthwhile... he said he loves me. I don't know what I'd do without him, now. I need Harry._ "Please, Patronus," Draco whispered. "Bring him."

Slowly, very slowly, the badger's head dipped, and then it disappeared. Disappointment made Draco's stomach lurch, almost sickening him, before he realized that it had appeared again at the far end of the garden, nudging at Harry's hand.

"It worked!" Draco shouted, elated, even though Harry knew perfectly well that it had, and was grinning, walking back along the brick pathway.

"I knew you could do it." Harry's eyes shone. As he brushed a light kiss against Draco's cheek, the badger vanished once more.

"But I don't quite understand one thing," said Draco. "If I get my Patronus to go to you, or whomever, by thinking about how much I need your help, how would you know it was mine, and more important, how would you know how to find me and help me?"

Harry frowned. "I suppose I'd have to know it was your Patronus to begin with. But knowing what it wanted or where you were? That's more difficult." He pushed his lips out in thought and Draco had an urge to grab him and kiss him. "They're animal forms, so it's not like they can talk, and they're not entirely corporeal... I wonder, though, if they could carry a written message? I mean, when a person Apparates he's not quite physical for an instant, but everything he's wearing goes along with him."

"Unless he Splinches himself," Draco said automatically.

"Yeah, true. But that's the idea. The Patronus seems to do a kind of Apparition so it might be able to carry something. Do you want to try again, see if you can have yours bring me a bit of parchment, say?"

"I think you should try it with your own Patronus," said Draco. He felt somehow that it was not right to pretend to his Patronus that he needed help when he didn't. Once, perhaps, to make certain that it would work. Maybe he was treating it too much as if it were real, not something that only existed through his magic – but being respectful felt right.

(Note: A very slightly more explicit version of this chapter is available on my website.)


	37. Behind a Rose Bush

**37. Behind a Rose Bush**

Harry had no time to think any further about Ginny, not when Draco's lips met his own and demanded his full attention.

"I think we're both in enough trouble on the whole that loving two people should be the least of your worries," said Draco when they paused for breath. He pressed the heel of his hand against Harry's cock, rubbing it through the fabric of his trousers.

"Maybe not." Harry was more than ready to acquiesce to Draco's suggestion that they shower together, the hot water and soap slick on his skin as Draco touched him, thrust between his thighs until they both came. Sweat and semen washed together down the drain, leaving no trace behind.

It was pleasant to share a bed with Draco. He spooned himself against Harry's back, warm and smelling of soap, holding Harry close in a way that made Harry feel relaxed and safe, not crowded or smothered as he would have expected. The only time he'd ever slept in the same bed with someone before Draco was with Ron, and that was a very different thing.

"What can we do to fill all those empty hours over the next few days while the potions are brewing, do you suppose?" Draco's fingers found Harry's nipple through his pyjama top, and Harry held back a laugh at the bluntness of the question, so untypically unsubtly un-Slytherin of Draco.

"We really ought to practice some hexes again, and counters for them... and you should work on your Patronus," Harry said, wriggling his arse against Draco's hips. "But I'd think we'll have time for other things, too."

"Like shagging?" Draco persisted.

"You think I'd turn that down? No more than you would, you prat." Harry spoke the insult fondly, and twined his fingers and Draco's together. Draco's breath was warm and rhythmic against his skin as Harry fell asleep.

In the morning Draco asked to borrow Hedwig to order the Cannons-Puddlemere tickets that he was giving to Hermione and the Weasleys. Harry fed his owl bits of bacon as Draco wrote, and then tied the parcel to her leg.

"Not too heavy for you with all those Galleons, is it?" Harry asked her, and Hedwig hooted softly, clicking her beak at them. "I guess not. Off you go then."

Draco looked wistful, watching her fly away. Harry was sure he knew what Draco was thinking.

"I wish we could go, too."

"_You_ could go," said Draco. "It shouldn't be unsafe for you, and I expect the rest of them would like to have you along."

"No, that wouldn't be fair to _you_, I already said so. Someday, when this is all over, perhaps we can go see a match together."

"Just the two of us, without your friends, you mean?" Draco asked.

"If you like." Harry wondered why Draco's expression remained sad – surely that had been what he hoped to hear, that Harry wanted to go to a Quidditch match with him?

"Right, of course," said Draco. "Now that's done, I suppose we'd better check on those potions before we practice hexes or counterspells or whatever it was you wanted to do today."

Afterward they went out into the back garden. Harry thought of wizarding duels, and how he had organized the DA towards the end, and of the fight against the Death Eaters in the Ministry, and suggested that they practice as if it were a real fight, rather than warning each other which jinxes they were going to use as they'd done before. It was quite exhilarating, really, dodging around the unkempt garden, trying to evade Draco's spells and cast his own. He was sidestepping a Stinging Hex when he tripped over a statue half-buried by ivy and fell, too winded to get up again immediately. Draco lowered his wand, waiting for Harry to recover.

"_No_," Harry snapped. He cast a Body-Bind on Draco even as he was scrambling back to his feet. Walking over, he squatted down, catching Draco's eye. "Don't hesitate. If you spot a weakness in your enemy, you have to exploit it, or they'll turn the tables on you." Draco couldn't respond while the spell was in effect, so Harry added, "_Finite incantatem._"

"I know what I have to do." Draco sounded both pained and irritated as he stood, then turned and sat on a dirty marble bench, slumping forward with his elbows on his knees. "I just... I can't seem to think of you as an enemy anymore, even in pretense. Maybe it's the Vow."

"Do you think so?" Harry sat next to him. The marble was cold and uncomfortable.

"It's all I can think of. I'd better try to remember the exact words I said – maybe you can help, but I want Hermione to double-check, too. Otherwise I could make a mistake and break it by accident. I don't want to get it wrong, not with an Unbreakable. Magic like that has to be precise, like Arithmancy."

Had Draco meant to insult him by saying Harry wouldn't be much use? "If I needed Arithmancy, I'd get Hermione's help, or yours. So far I've managed to stand up to Voldemort without fussing about knowing all the theory behind what I've done."

"Yes, but it'll be not just him, but all the Death Eaters." Draco's face was pale, and Harry decided that he hadn't meant to be rude. "All of them," Draco repeated. The unspoken words, "Including my father," hung in the air.

Harry couldn't promise what would happen; he didn't know. They talked about it for a while, in a theoretical sort of way, what either of them might do if they confronted Lucius Malfoy in battle. For Draco's sake, Harry would prefer to spare Lucius if he could, but he hoped he'd never be in a position where he had to fight him at all.

"If he tried to curse me, and you were there – what would you do?" Harry asked.

Draco shifted on the bench and took Harry's hand, his thumb stroking Harry's wrist, his expression unhappy. "I don't know. That's why I need to figure out the exact wording of the Vow. Because I don't want to fight my father, not directly, but I _have_ to protect you – it's my own life at stake too. If I break the Vow I'll _die_, and not in any pleasant way." He shivered. "Look, I don't want to talk about it any more just now. You wanted me to practice Summoning my Patronus, right?"

"Yes." Harry didn't really want to talk about it any more either. It was enough for the moment that they _had_ talked, a little bit, enough so that maybe neither of them would do something that would prove unbearable. "Do you remember how to do it?"

"_Expecto Patronum_, and think of a happy memory." The corners of Draco's mouth quirked, and Harry wondered what Draco was thinking. "Is it always the same animal?"

"Generally. Occasionally it changes, if there's some big alteration in your life. Your cousin Tonks' changed."

"I don't think the changes in my life since I tried before would qualify as that big an alteration, so I guess it'll stay a badger then." Draco's voice held an edge of disappointment. "Oh, well. _Expecto Patronum!_"

There was a flash. As the shimmering form of the badger appeared, Harry shouted, "Oh, well _done_! First try this time!"

"What now?" Draco asked.

"You hardly need protecting from anything here, and it's obvious you have the spell down." Harry thought for a moment. "Professor Lupin hinted that a Patronus could be used to summon help, but I'm not sure how, or who you could send it to, to practice that."

"Not to either of my parents," said Draco definitely. "Maybe to Professor Snape, though."

Harry flinched, covering his shudder by running his fingers through his hair. Snape could be anywhere, even with Voldemort. "I'd really rather you didn't send it to him. How about me? I could go to the far end of the garden, behind a tree or something. Concentrate on needing me and see what happens."

"I think I can manage that," said Draco with a tiny smirk.

Harry snorted. "Wait till I'm hidden." He walked briskly along the path until he reached an overgrown rosebush tall enough to conceal him, and waited. It was only a minute or two before the glowing form of the badger appeared next to him, its great head nudging him out from behind the bush and in Draco's direction.

"It worked!" Draco was calling at him as Harry hurried back.

"I knew you could do it." Harry was almost as excited as Draco looked; he'd never done this with his own Patronus, after all, but had only guessed it could work from what Lupin had said. He gave Draco a swift fierce kiss.

"Although... if you didn't already know it was my Patronus, and where to find me – especially if you were miles away – how could you have figured that out?" Draco frowned in thought.

"Hm." Harry wrinkled his nose, wishing that Lupin had had time to teach him more than the basic summoning spell. "I'm not sure. It's not as if a Patronus can talk, it's an animal form, and not even entirely corporeal. But they seem to do a kind of Apparition. Maybe it could carry a written message? When a person Apparates he's not quite physical for a moment, but whatever he's wearing or carrying goes with him."

"Unless he Splinches himself," Draco reminded Harry.

"True, but that's the principle. We could try again and see if you can get your Patronus to bring me a bit of parchment."

"I think you should try it with yours this time," said Draco. "Just for a change. Do you mind?"

"No, we can do that," said Harry, surprised. "If you're sure you don't want to." Draco had done so well already; why would he be reluctant to try this next step? But it was clear that he was, for some reason Harry didn't understand and felt shy of asking about. Harry rummaged in his pockets and found only a stub of pencil. "Do you have a piece of parchment for a note?"

Draco shook his head. "Use this," he said, handing Harry a good-sized fallen leaf.

"What? Oh." Harry realized what Draco intended, and Transfigured the leaf into parchment. "Go on, down where I was before. I'll summon my Patronus, and see if it will take you this."

As Draco strolled away, Harry scribbled, _Fancy a shag later?_, folded the parchment, and held onto it with his left hand, his wand with his right. He thought about what happy memory to choose; there were a great many more of those now than when Lupin had first taught him the spell. Perhaps he would try the day before, when Hermione had been taking off Draco's Mark and used Harry's magic to amplify the effect. Harry fixed in his mind the joyful passion he had felt then, and said, "_Expecto Patronum!_"

The stag burst into being before him. Harry put his arm around its neck, as always marveling at the living warmth of a creature that nevertheless gave off a pale glow that seemed more suitable to a spirit. He held out the scrap of parchment.

"Please, I need Draco," he said. It was no more than the truth. He needed Draco's help and companionship; sex with Draco had been more amazing than Harry would ever have expected, but it was their unexpected friendship that was now more necessary. "Take this message to him for me, please?"

Blinking dark liquid eyes at Harry, the stag took the parchment delicately between its teeth and vanished again, only to reappear at the far end of the garden. Harry acknowledged that a better test would be to send his Patronus somewhere completely out of his sight, but this should be good enough for the moment. He couldn't actually _see_ Draco, at least, even though he did know where Draco was.

He was distracted from such thoughts when the stag arrived before him once again, lowering its head to offer him the parchment.

"Thank you," said Harry gravely as he took it. He repressed a momentary urge to bow in the way he once had done to Buckbeak. "Not that I doubt it worked, but I'd better check to see if there's a return message, just to verify." He unfolded the creased parchment and read, _Your arse or mine?_ Harry laughed and thanked his Patronus again.

"It worked," he shouted down the garden as the stag vanished. "It worked perfectly."

"I thought it would," Draco called back to Harry as he came running down the walk. "So, we've practiced the hexes as you wanted, and now practiced with our Patronuses – I'd say we've earned a bit of a breather, don't you think?"

"We should check on the potions before anything else. Isn't there one that needs to be tended to before dinnertime?" Harry laughed again at the disappointed expression on Draco's face. "But after dinner there's nothing much to do. We could always play Gobstones, or I think there's a wizarding chess set somewhere in the library," he teased.

"Prat," Draco breathed into Harry's ear, hugging him. "You know perfectly well what I meant." He emphasized the words with a nip at Harry's neck, and Harry's breathing quickened in response.

"Of course, but we really _do_ need to deal with the potions," said Harry, slipping his hands down to squeeze Draco's arse.

"Humph. Fine. Just for that, I _will_ play you Gobstones after dinner." Draco kept hold of Harry's hand as they walked back into the house and down into their makeshift laboratory in the cellar.

Harry called out, "We're back," to Dobby, whose "Yes, Master Harry, sir," came faintly in reply.

"This one needs shredded boomslang skin added alternately with powdered sassafras leaf every six hours for the next twenty-four," said Draco, reading the instructions in the book. Harry measured out the boomslang skin and Draco added it, counting to himself as he stirred.

"Ugh. That'll mean having to get up at least once in the middle of the night." Harry sighed. "Can't be helped. I never realized how long and complicated so many potion recipes were, when we were in class. I guess the ones Snape assigned were simple, or at least they were fast to make."

"They were that. Look, I'll get up too," Draco offered.

"There's really no need... but if you _want_ to I'm hardly going to say no," Harry said. "How about the other potions in progress?"

"None of the rest are so time-sensitive. We can mix in the extract of hellebore now and just let this one keep simmering." Draco dipped a spoon into the potion in question, gazing with satisfaction at the way the purple goo dripped slowly back into the cauldron.

"How much?" asked Harry, opening the bottle of hellebore.

"A gill." Draco pushed a measuring cup across the table to Harry, who poured out the extract and added it to the cauldron as Draco stirred. "There, that's done."

"Mm hm." Harry replaced the cap tightly and put the bottle back in its place before moving behind Draco and wrapping his arms around the other boy's waist.

"We don't really have time, do we, before dinner?" Draco didn't move to push Harry away, however.

"I suppose not," said Harry with regret, standing on tiptoe to inhale the scent of Draco's neck and hair. "Unfortunately."

"When you've spent a month half-starved, you won't dismiss dinner so lightly," said Draco.

"I have done." Harry heard his own voice tighten with bitterness. "My aunt and uncle didn't treat me too well, remember?"

Draco turned around in Harry's arms. His grey eyes were dark and serious. "I'm sorry. I _hadn't_ remembered." He brushed his lips over Harry's temple. "Sometime you should tell me more about what it was like, growing up with those Muggles. I'd heard about you from when I was tiny – everyone heard stories about the Boy Who Lived – but no one knew what had happened to you afterward except that you'd been sent somewhere safe to grow up in peace. I always assumed you'd have been a bit spoiled, treated as someone special. The way you acted at Hogwarts when we first met didn't do much to change that.

"Not fair of me, I know that now," he added when Harry stiffened and tried to pull away. "Don't be angry. I'm just trying to explain, that's all." Draco looked distressed, and Harry tried to iron the scowl out of his face. It wasn't really Draco he was angry at; he wasn't sure who it was. His parents, for dying and leaving him alone? Dumbledore, for choosing to leave him in Privet Drive? The Dursleys, for demonstrating their callous dislike year after year? Perhaps most of all, and most reasonably, Voldemort, for having set in train all that had followed? None of it was Draco's fault, though, and Harry recognized that in Draco's place he'd have probably felt the same.

Harry exhaled a breath he hadn't quite known he was holding, and let himself lean forward against Draco. A part of his mind still wondered that he felt so able to trust Draco; it was just a fortnight since Draco had found him in Godric's Hollow, only a little more than a week since Draco had taken the Vow, set against six years of enmity. But those six years had reflected what each of them had been taught and blindly followed in allegiance to their teachers – Dumbledore for Harry, his parents for Draco. Now they were both on their own and making their own choices. If those contradicted earlier patterns, that might well be for the best. Dumbledore had always said that Harry's great gift was his ability to love. Loving Draco meant forgiving him when he said something thoughtless or mistaken, didn't it?

All of these thoughts flashed through Harry's mind in the time it took him to raise his hands to Draco's head and tilt it down for a long and very thorough snog, one that left them both gasping and trembling, and Harry's glasses smeared and askew on his nose.

"Dinner first," said Harry, his voice husky with the effort of not rutting against Draco right then. He pulled his glasses off and wiped them on his shirt with shaky fingers.

"Yeah," Draco agreed. His eyes were unfocused, his thin sharp face as soft and relaxed as Harry had ever seen it, even in sleep.

They hurried up to the dining room. Dobby had cooked lamb chops and potatoes, with sprouts on the side. Both of them took enormous platefuls – remembering how little he'd eaten with the Dursleys made Harry feel extra hungry.

"So, up for that game of Gobstones?" Draco asked, slicing off a bite of lamb and putting it in his mouth.

Harry dragged his eyes away from the way Draco's throat caught the light as he chewed and swallowed. "Gobstones? Oh, yeah. If we play for forfeits again." He grinned at Draco, not minding at all the thought that it would probably be Draco who would win most of the time. He ate quickly, not forgetting to thank Dobby for his hard work when he was finished, but eager to find out what Draco might have in mind.

"We could either play for forfeits as we did last time, or else strip – the loser each round could take off a piece of clothing," said Draco as they sat in the library with the Gobstones board set between them.

"Forfeits," said Harry immediately. Stripping might be fun, but would also take rather longer to achieve anything interesting.

Draco smirked. "Thought you'd say that. You can have the first move, if you like."

Moving first wasn't quite enough of an advantage for Harry to win the round. "What do you want as my forfeit?" he asked, spelling off the goo from his face and clothes.

Cocking his head to one side, Draco regarded Harry intently. "A blow job. Right here in the chair. Five minutes or until I come, whichever's first – I don't especially want to come that fast, though, not that I'll _mind_ if I do or anything."

He stood up to undo his trousers and pull them down, then reseated himself. Harry knelt in front of the chair, resting his left hand on Draco's thigh and using his right to stroke the base of Draco's rapidly hardening prick as he leaned forward to take the head into his mouth.

Draco's hands touched his head, his ears, pulling his glasses away so that Harry could move closer. He licked up and down the shaft, rubbing the base of it with his thumb, and Draco gave a whine from deep in his throat.

"Harder – don't tease," Draco growled, tightening his grip on Harry's hair, and Harry complied. He was so focused on doing his best at the still-unfamiliar task that he nearly failed to hear Draco saying, "Five minutes, Harry, you've paid the forfeit."

Harry gave a last slow lick to Draco's cock, then sat back on his heels and looked at it. Draco's face was flushed and damp too as he looked down at Harry, holding out his glasses again.

"Another round?"

"Of course." Harry was hard too, and he had to adjust himself before he could sit comfortably. After a few minutes he gave up and took off his own trousers – if Draco could sit there and play half-naked, so could Harry. He wasn't really focusing on the game, but Draco must have been even more distracted, for Harry won the round handily.

"Your turn to choose my forfeit," said Draco.

Having Draco reciprocate the blow job appealed, but Harry didn't want to look as if he had no ideas of his own. He thought about it for a minute. Maybe... yes. He could ask, at least.

"We'll need lube for what I want," he said finally, and Draco's eyes widened.

"I'll get it." Draco pulled out his wand. "No, wait, I think the bedroom door's closed. Hang on a tick." Draco's erection had softened slightly during the second game but Harry still enjoyed the view as Draco stood up to trot out of the room. He was back within minutes with the bottle of gel they had used last night.

"Now, what do we need this for? I'm still a bit sore, myself, and I expect you are too."

Harry felt rather daringly wicked as he said, "I want you on my lap with my prick inside you for the next game. I won't move a lot; I don't want it to hurt you. Is that okay?"

"You kinky bastard," said Draco, but he sounded pleased rather than upset. "My back to you?"

"Yeah. Here, give me that." Harry took the lube and spent a little time applying it before guiding his prick into the tight slick heat as Draco slowly lowered himself onto Harry's lap.

"Mm, good," said Draco, rocking just a little, and Harry agreed.

It was tricky to play this way, peering around Draco's torso and playing one-handed – the other hand was fully occupied with Draco's cock – but it was also wonderfully exciting. Each time Draco shifted, or Harry did, little thrills of pleasure shot through him, and he was sure that Draco felt the same from the sounds he was making. Before they were nearly finished with the third round they were both quite thoroughly distracted.

"Don't think I can play any more just now," Draco panted.

"Me, either," Harry agreed.

Draco awkwardly turned his head so that their lips could meet. They moved together, rocking, until Draco's cock pulsed under Harry's fingers, and Harry came in jerky spasms as he cried out Draco's name.

Draco slumped back against Harry and gave a low chuckle. "Tournament-level Gobstones was never this fun."

"I wouldn't think so." Harry leaned his sweaty forehead against Draco's equally damp back. "Probably just as well."

They cleaned up – Harry insisting that even if house-elves expected to do such things, _he_ wasn't comfortable with the idea – and headed up to the bedroom.

"Three hours till the next addition of sassafras," said Harry ruefully, setting the alarm.

"But then another six before the boomslang skin again, and that's not too bad," Draco pointed out, his words somewhat indistinct owing to the toothbrush in his mouth. "With two of us it won't take very long to do, and then that one will be ready to test tomorrow night or Wednesday."

"Yeah." A tingle of anticipation went down Harry's spine at the thought that maybe this trial would work and destroy the locket Horcrux. If he could get rid of this one deliberately, not like the accidental way he'd destroyed Tom Riddle's old diary, he'd feel a lot more confident about dealing with the rest. It might take some time, but that was all right. His friends would help: Ron and Hermione, Ginny too, and Draco. And then there was the Order, and the DA; even if none of them knew about the Horcruxes, it was a comfort to think that they were behind Harry, that all of them would be doing what they could against Voldemort and his Death Eaters and other supporters. Harry wasn't alone.

He crawled into the bed beside Draco, who moved closer, burrowing up against Harry's back and draping an arm over him.

"Harry." Draco's breath was minty and warm on Harry's skin, but he shivered a little nonetheless.

"What?"

"I'm glad that I'm here. With you. Not because it wasn't safe for me anywhere else," Draco spoke quietly, "or because you're a good shag, either. I'd just rather be with you than with anyone else at all."

"Me, too." Harry replied automatically, but it was true. Hermione and Ron had each other. Ginny... she was a good friend, and there was still an attraction there, he couldn't deny it, but whatever it was drawing him to Draco was stronger now than any tie to Ginny. "Me, too."

* * *

Note: A very slightly more explicit version of this chapter is available on my website 


	38. The Cellar

**38. The Cellar**

"Here, use this to write on," Draco said. He handed a large fallen leaf to Harry, who looked at it curiously.

"I don't... oh, of course." Comprehension flashed across Harry's face, and he Transfigured it into a scrap of parchment. "Go on to the end of the garden and I'll see if my Patronus will carry the note."

Draco waited, idly snapping a dead twig into tiny pieces, until the stag form appeared before him, Harry's note in its teeth. He held out his hand and the folded parchment fell into his palm.

"Thank you," he said, opening it and laughing at Harry's message: _Fancy a shag later?_ Hardly the stuff of urgency. Well, perhaps it was. His prick stirred any time he thought of sex with Harry. Draco felt in his pockets for something to write with. Finding nothing, he scowled and drew his wand. He could Transfigure the scribbled words, if he just concentrated enough...

When the message read, _Your arse or mine?_, he gave it back to the stag and requested, "Please take this back to Harry."

The creature's eyes seemed to gleam as it bowed its neck to grasp the parchment, then vanished. Draco could hear Harry yelling, "It worked!"

"Of course it did," Draco called back, hurrying towards him. They'd proved it could be done; Draco was sure that if he needed to get his own Patronus to carry a message, he could manage it. The difficult part was summoning it to begin with and that he had mastered well enough.

Working on the potions was their next task for the day. Luckily only one potion would need to be tended during the night. Harry looked so glum at the prospect that instead of teasing him about his lack of dedication to potion-brewing, Draco offered to get up when Harry did, though it hardly took two people to stir in a half-ounce of sassafras leaf. The way that Harry's face lit up, however, made Draco feel that missing a bit of sleep was well worth it.

He would have suggested that they make good on what their notes had promised, but it was dinnertime, and he was hungry.

"We could be late," Harry said. "Dobby wouldn't mind, would he?"

Dobby's feelings were not something Draco had ever considered in his life, but his own stomach was speaking insistently. "If you'd spent a month half-starved, you wouldn't want to wait."

"I have." Harry's voice was sharp. "When I lived with my aunt and uncle." His arms tightened around Draco, shaking him a little.

"I'm sorry, Harry." Draco had honestly forgotten that of course Harry knew what it was like to be hungry. "I grew up thinking of you as... well, almost as someone in a fairy tale, who had survived against all odds and to whom nothing else bad could happen. I know now that wasn't true, but I believed it for a long time; it's hard to change that kind of assumption overnight. So don't be angry if I forget once in awhile, okay?" He turned around, meeting Harry's gaze, letting his distress show.

Harry swallowed, his eyes closing as his throat worked, and he pulled Draco even tighter, tipping his head up to bring their mouths together in an intense kiss.

If Harry hadn't said, "Dinner first," when they finally broke away, Draco might just have dragged Harry down to the floor right there, hungry or not. But Harry did say it, and the best Draco could do was to hurry through the lamb and potatoes and sprouts.

"How about a game of Gobstones?" he suggested half-jokingly as they finished eating.

"If we play for forfeits again." Harry's smile indicated pleased complicity.

As he expected, Draco won the first game. For his forfeit he requested that Harry suck him off for five minutes – the longest he thought he could handle without actually coming, although if he did, well, there were far worse things.

Harry licked his lips as Draco pulled down his trousers.

"Oh, fuck yeah." Draco couldn't restrain a groan when Harry's mouth closed over his half-hard prick. Harry's glasses were cold against Draco's skin and he carefully unhooked them from Harry's ears, pulling them away. Harry's tongue flickered along his length.

"Harder – don't be a tease." He nearly gave himself up as Harry sucked more firmly, his thumb rubbing over the base of Draco's cock, but he retained enough awareness to say, "Time's up, you've paid the forfeit."

Harry's mouth dragged once more along Draco's prick before he pulled away. Draco handed him his glasses. "Another round?"

"All right." Harry sat down again, his lips red and wet and absolutely luscious as Draco glanced at him while they were resetting the board.

Draco didn't bother to refasten his trousers, stroking himself between moves. That might have been a bad idea, since it distracted him so that Harry won, except that Draco was not concerned with who achieved the victory, now; all that mattered was what kind of forfeit might be demanded.

When Harry decided that as forfeit Draco should sit with Harry's prick up his arse as they played the next round, Draco quelled any concern that it might be more painful than pleasurable. Harry made sure to use plenty of lube, and promised not to move much. The expression on Harry's face as he asked, the awed intimacy of it, would have made Draco agree even if it _had_ been painful.

The third game of Gobstones was abandoned incomplete. The gradual buildup of desire was too much; Harry had been stroking Draco's prick with one hand, bringing him to the point of orgasm, until Draco felt the heat spiral between them, melting him to come in sticky strands, splattering his chest through Harry's fingers.

"Draco!" Harry's voice cracked and his hips jerked. Draco felt Harry's forehead press against his back as Harry shuddered.

"If tournament-level Gobstones were like this..." Draco said after a few moment, when his breathing had calmed again.

"Hah. Just as well it's not," said Harry, rubbing his sweaty rough cheek against Draco's shoulder. "Look, that didn't hurt you, did it?" he asked anxiously.

"No, I'm fine."

They separated with a squelching sound. Harry insisted on cleaning the chair and themselves up before going off to bed. The sassafras would need to be added to the appropriate potion in less than three hours, but after that they could get a good six hours' sleep before the final addition of boomslang skin. If all went well, Harry could test that one on Wednesday, and another would be ready tomorrow.

Draco brushed his teeth, thinking about the Horcruxes and Harry's quest to find them all. He would do his best to help – the Vow required it – and he hoped that he would actually be able to do something useful. They hadn't had any success at Little Hangleton, which had bothered him. But he'd be with Harry regardless, and that was what mattered. Draco realized that, much as he missed the security of all that he had once taken for granted, and uncertain though the future still might be, he was happier now than he could remember having been since he was a tiny child.

He put an arm around Harry when the other boy crawled under the covers. Nothing bad was likely to happen any time soon; at worst, all the potions they tried would fail to destroy the locket and they'd have to think of an alternative plan. Nevertheless he spoke, wanting to make sure Harry knew what he meant to Draco.

"I'm glad to be here with you – I want you to know that. Not because you're marvelous to shag or because it's not safe for me anywhere else, either, but because I'd rather be with _you_ than anyone else at all."

"Me, too." Harry sounded almost surprised by his own words, but Draco smiled to himself. He could tell that Harry meant them.

The alarm sounded far too soon, waking Draco from a dream that he'd been attending a Ministry banquet, with Professor Trelawney, of all people, awarding him the Order of Merlin.

He nudged Harry, who had rolled away and was snoring lightly. "Time to get up and put in that sassafras."

Harry grumbled and rubbed his eyes, but he pulled on a dressing gown and gave Draco one, too. They must have belonged to Sirius Black, Draco supposed, and Dobby had doubtless placed them in the bedroom. The air at this hour of night was cool enough that he appreciated having something more than a t-shirt on.

Yawning, they crept downstairs. Draco wasn't sure why it seemed right to be so quiet. No one could hear them except Dobby even if they shouted the place down. There was old Mrs. Black's portrait; but they need not be silent for her, as ordinary voices could not disturb her in that closed room. Perhaps it was the solemnity of hope that this potion might be the one that worked, or simply that neither of them was used to waking this way, more disconcerting than staying awake till the same hour.

The potion bubbled slowly as Harry added the powdered sassafras and Draco stirred.

"Six more hours, then boomslang skin again," Draco reminded Harry, who nodded tiredly.

He took Draco's hand as they went back to bed. Again, neither of them spoke on the way; though Draco opened his mouth twice, he could not decide what he might want to say, and so he remained silent in the end. Once in the bedroom, dressing-gowns off, Harry pulled Draco close to him under the sheets, running his hands along Draco's back and pressing kisses all over his face. Still there were no words spoken, and finally Harry let Draco go and they both slept again.

Draco wondered if he had dreamed it all when once again he was wakened by the alarm, for now Harry chattered of his excitement about testing the potion tomorrow, said that he'd slept well and hoped Draco had too, and generally seemed a wholly different creature from the person who had held Draco silently last night. The state of the potion, though, belied any possibility that it had been merely a dream, for its color was now a muddy green from the addition of the sassafras, deepening and turning to a brownish purple when the last of the boomslang skin went in.

"That'll be ready tomorrow, but we could test this one today," said Draco, pointing at one of the other cauldrons.

Harry wrinkled his nose. "I almost want to wait and try them both at the same time. I know it doesn't make any difference but it feels like that would double the chances that one would work. If that's all right with you?"

"You're the one in charge of this. So sure, whatever." Draco shrugged, covering the cauldron so that nothing could fall into it by accident. "Now that it's finished it won't hurt to let it sit."

"Shall we practice hexes again today?" Harry asked at breakfast as he spread jam on a slice of toast. "Some, at least?"

"We should, I suppose." Draco spoke with some reluctance. He did agree it was a wise idea, but...

"Did you have something else you wanted to do – practice with your Patronus, maybe?"

"No, hexes are fine." Then Draco changed his mind. "Actually, I'd like to talk a bit. I'm not entirely clear on just what your plans are, and I ought to know, I think. Also I should try to remember the exact words of my Vow – you could help me with that, and once we've done our best, then we could consult Gr... Hermione and see if she recalls any details either of us might have forgotten."

"All right." Harry nodded. "Hexes for a couple of hours, then we can work on that after lunch?"

"Sure."

Today Draco did somewhat better at aiming jinxes and curses at Harry, reminding himself that keeping up his skills was ultimately for Harry's benefit, and that nothing he was doing was permanently damaging anyhow. Harry still out-hexed him more than half the time, however, and Draco realized that this was simply one of Harry's magical strengths, this ability to dodge and at the same time send his own countercurses. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professors – Umbridge excepted, naturally – hadn't been favoring Harry, all Slytherin gossip to the contrary.

Panting, Draco threw up his hands. "Enough. The sun says it's about noon – enough for now."

Harry grinned at Draco and pulled him down onto a patch of untrimmed grass, rolling over to pin Draco beneath him. He had a streak of dirt across one cheek and his hair stuck out wildly, and Draco could have stayed there admiring the beads of sweat at his hairline forever. Well, for quite awhile, anyhow.

"Want to talk now, or eat? I asked Dobby just to make sandwiches or something, since I wasn't sure when we'd finish."

Over cheese sandwiches and crisps and fruit, Harry said, "What is it you want to know? I'm not trying to keep secrets from you – not now." He turned slightly pink.

"Okay, I know about the Horcruxes, and I still haven't been able to think of anything my father ever said that might be helpful in finding the last three – it is three more, right? Two are already destroyed, and the locket is the third."

"That's right."

"And they all have to be eliminated before the Dark Lord can be killed."

"Yeah. I wish I thought your father might have had another in his possession, but I'm pretty sure Voldemort would have wanted to keep them as far apart as possible. Searching randomly would be pointless. What I'd like to do is figure out a way to have Hermione do some research in the Ministry's records. If she could put together a list of all known Death Eaters, and maybe reconstruct Voldemort's movements before and during the last war as much as possible, it might give us some clues as to where he could possibly have hidden them. She'd be willing, I expect, and she'd certainly be far better at it than I would, but she'd need a cover story. It's also something that could take months, even assuming that she can somehow get permission to look through those records – and the beginning of term is only a month away. Professor McGonagall would probably help, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, but I don't really want to ask them; Dumbledore wanted this all to be kept secret, and while I don't mind telling _you_..." Harry looked away and took a drink of pumpkin juice. "I'm hoping to keep it just amongst us. Me, you, Hermione, Ron, perhaps Ginny."

Draco stopped himself from repeating Ginny's name. Instead he said, "If it would take Hermione months, as you think, what would you do in the meantime?"

"I don't know. Do you think there might be records at your parents' house, hidden somewhere? Although I suppose it would be too dangerous to go there, wouldn't it?" Harry's enthusiasm visibly deflated.

"Maybe not." Draco took a deep breath. "Since the Dark Mark is gone, and it seems as if maybe it wasn't traceable anyway, I shouldn't be any more vulnerable to the Death Eaters than you are. The Manor might well be under surveillance, of course. I'll tell you anything I can remember that you want to know, and there just might be documents or who knows what other evidence in my father's rooms. It'll be tricky to find them and there might be curses too; I'd have to go, I couldn't just tell you where to look."

"_Would_ you?" Harry sounded delighted.

"I can't promise it'll be of any use, but yes. Once you've, we've, finished dealing with this locket. And once I've remembered all the details of my Vow, to be on the safe side."

"Oh, of course. What do you want me to do to help with that?"

"Try to think back to when I took the Vow, and tell me if you think I'm adding anything, or missing anything." Draco glanced around at the litter of their lunch. "We should probably do this in the library. I'd rather write it all down."

"Good idea; then you can send it to Hermione to look it over too, the way you said before."

They sat close together at the table, close enough that their legs touched and Draco felt the warmth of Harry's body through all the layers of fabric.

Draco held a quill poised above a piece of parchment.

"I said, 'I swear I will be loyal to you,' to begin with, I'm pretty certain."

"Yes." Harry nodded. "I think you said my name, didn't you?"

"That sounds right." Draco drew his eyebrows together in thought. "Your surname too. And that my loyalty would come before that to my family." He scribbled down the words as Harry watched.

"Then it was, 'I will not betray you to Voldemort.'"

"'Or to any Death Eater,'" interjected Harry. "I remember that bit because your father came to my mind when you said it."

"I suppose so," said Draco. He felt a stab at Harry's words, but Harry's thoughts were only natural, especially since in the Vow Draco had just mentioned his family. "Yeah. Then what?"

"You said you'd do your best to help and protect me, I think."

"'In any need,'" Draco agreed. He wrote that down, too, and read it all aloud.

"'I swear I will be loyal to you, Harry Potter, before my own family. I will not betray you to Voldemort or any Death Eater. I swear I will do my best to help and protect you in any need.' Does that sound right? I think we've forgotten something."

Harry leaned over, his lips moving slightly as he read the sentences over to himself. "I don't know what; it sounds right to me."

"It's close, that's certain, but it really ought to be exact."

"Well, send it to Hermione and ask if she remembers anything else. She's good at that sort of thing. I don't know how she does it." Harry's hand closed over Draco's.

"Could you write to her? I feel odd, doing that."

"No," said Harry firmly. "You're the one who needs to know. Hermione's not the sort to hold grudges, you've seen that; it's Ron who does. And me." He turned red. "Or at least I have done. No, you write her. If we don't hear back by tomorrow then I'll write too, okay?"

Sighing, Draco pulled over a clean piece of parchment and tried to figure out how to phrase a letter to a girl that he'd despised and taunted for years. Even if in person they'd been able to be quite polite, lately, and even if it was thanks to Hermione that he no longer carried the Dark Mark, somehow writing seemed awkward again. Should he begin it, "Dear Hermione," or what?

"I'll make it worth your while," Harry whispered in Draco's ear, and his lips on Draco's neck made evident just how he intended to do so.

He did wait until Draco had finished the letter and they had sent it off with Hedwig, but then Draco found himself rolling quite happily on the library carpet with most of his clothes off and Harry attacking every inch of his body with hands and mouth. He could definitely bear to ask Hermione Granger for favors if it brought such favors from Harry, too.

That evening after dinner they drank wine and played wizarding chess for a change; _not_ for forfeits, this time, and rather to Draco's surprise Harry won three games in a row.

"I've played quite a lot with Ron," Harry explained, gathering up the chessmen and starting to set up the board again.

"No, don't." Draco stopped him. "Let's do something else."

"Don't like losing?" said Harry, then instantly looked contrite. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. It was my idea to play chess, only fair for you to have a turn choosing."

Draco would have liked to yell at Harry for the insult, but the apology came too quickly and was too clearly heartfelt for him to be able to do so without seeming even more childish than Harry's taunt made him. He took a deep breath and let it out.

"Let's have some more of that wine, and I'll read to you," he said. He'd half-intended to suggest more snogging and other fooling around, but the mood had been broken.

"Read to me?" Harry blinked.

"Yes. Don't you like it?"

"I don't know. I don't think anyone's ever read to me, just me, in my whole life. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon never did. Perhaps my primary school teachers, but reading to a whole class is a lot different." Harry looked eager. "What do you want to read?"

"Oh, I don't know. There's plenty of books to choose from here. Maybe something about Merlin and King Arthur? I don't think there's much _recent_, but lots of classics," said Draco, and gestured at the full shelves.

"I don't know much about literature," Harry said. "You should pick whatever you like, but King Arthur sounds good to me."

"If I can find... I know. Dobby!" Draco called, and the house-elf appeared.

"Dobby is here. What can Dobby do to help Master Draco?"

"I'm looking for a book; you've cleaned in here so perhaps you've seen it? It's called _The Once and Future King_."

"Yes," Dobby squealed. "Dobby knows that book." He scurried away to a shelf further along the wall and came back triumphantly with the volume in his hands.

"Thank you," said Draco, knowing Harry would want – would _expect_ – him to be polite, even though it was hardly necessary, and Draco was sure Dobby wouldn't expect it. "Um. Harry, was there anything else you needed?"

"I don't... actually, Dobby, could you bring us another bottle of wine, and perhaps some biscuits?"

When Dobby had returned with the food, they settled themselves on the sofa, with Draco sitting at one end and Harry stretched out across the length of it, his head resting on Draco's thigh.

"Go ahead," Harry mumbled through a mouthful of biscuit. "I'm listening."

Draco balanced the book on his other leg and began to read. "Chapter one. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays it was Court Hand and Summulae Logicales, while the rest of the week it was the Organon, Repetition and Astrology. The governess was always getting muddled with her astrolabe, and when she got specially muddled she would take it out of the Wart by rapping his knuckles. She did not rap Kay's knuckles, because when Kay grew older he would be Sir Kay, the master of the estate. The Wart was called the Wart because it more or less rhymed with Art, which was short for his real name." He paused and took a sip of wine.

Harry chuckled. "I like that. Go on." He hung on to every word as Draco read the first three chapters, up until the Wart found Merlyn who said he would go home with him and be his tutor.

"I'm going to have to stop; my voice is getting tired," Draco apologized.

"Do you want me to read some to you?" Harry seemed excited by the prospect, so Draco agreed, although he usually preferred to read to himself. His mother had been very disappointed when Draco told her that he could read faster than she could, and she needn't read to him any more. He'd humored her on occasion at bedtime, even if it made the stories seem to drag no matter how exciting they were.

Harry was not a polished reader; nevertheless Draco found himself unexpectedly caught up in the story of how Merlyn turned Arthur into a perch, even though he knew _The Once and Future King_ quite well. Draco's father had told him that its author was actually a descendant of an old wizarding family, distantly related to Draco's mother, but that White had been its last member and had been more than a bit daft, preferring to lead a hermit-like, almost Muggle existence for some years. He wrote a good story, though, despite getting virtually all of Merlin's magic wrong. Perhaps that had been deliberate.

In any case it was nicer to hear the familiar words in Harry's voice than Draco had anticipated. Harry had learned the trick of both holding a book and turning its pages with one hand; his other rested on Draco's shoulder with his thumb against the pulse-point of Draco's neck, stroking his skin gently.

After Harry had finished reading about Kay and the Wart shooting arrows and having a gore-crow steal the Wart's last one, Draco reached up and touched him.

"Let's go to bed."

Neither of them was inclined tonight to try penetration again; Draco was still a bit tender back there from the night before, and he suspected Harry might be too. Besides, a mutual hand job was plenty exciting, when it was Harry who was making those needy groans, Harry whose touch sent all of Draco's blood to his cock, Harry who sweated and shivered and spoke Draco's name as if its five letters and two syllables were a spell he didn't yet understand but was bound to practice until he did.

Draco let himself relax, afterward, with Harry spooned up behind him. Tomorrow, he hoped, Hermione would reply to his question about the Vow, and tomorrow they could test those two dissolving potions. He didn't really have a lot of hope for that solution, but he had nothing better to suggest.

"Good night," Harry murmured against Draco's neck, winding his arms around Draco's waist and pulling him closer.

It was pleasant to be held, but Draco decided after a short time of failing to go to sleep that in the long run, he'd have to convince Harry that a few inches of space between them at night might be more conducive to a decent few hours' rest. But first things first.

He woke with a start to see Dobby's goggle eyes peering into his.

"Master Harry's owl is back and is pecking at Dobby until he fetches Master Harry or Master Draco to take the letter she brings," the house-elf announced in his high voice.

Beyond Draco, Harry groaned sleepily. "What time is it?"

"It is nearly eight o'clock, Master Harry, and Dobby has the breakfast ready, with sausages and other good things. Is Master Harry coming to eat his breakfast?" Dobby vanished from Draco's view, presumably to Harry's side of the bed.

"Yes, we're coming. Go tell Hedwig I'll be right there – and give her some sausage or something, please." Harry sat up, dragging the covers off of Draco, too. "Come on, lazy, we've lots to do today, especially if we have to start brewing some new potions. Won't know till we try."

Draco grumbled but got up, pulling off the green t-shirt he slept in and rummaging for clean clothes.

"Dobby?" He looked around but Dobby was gone, presumably back to watch over his sausages. "We need to have him wash some clothes today; I'm nearly out of pants and socks." He pulled on a pair of trousers and padded off to the bathroom to splash water on his face and drag a comb through his hair. Harry might always appear as if birds had been nesting on his head, but that didn't mean Draco needed to adopt the look too.

"Meet you downstairs," Harry called out.

When Draco reached the table, Harry had taken the letter from his owl and was offering her bits of sausage and toast, leaving the sealed parchment for Draco to open. It was filled with tiny neat script.

_Dear Draco,_

_It's a good thing you checked with me as you've come close to the wording but it's not quite right, and you forgot a bit at the end. This is what you said during the Vow:_

_'I swear I will be loyal to you, Harry Potter, even above my own family. I swear I will not betray you to Voldemort or any Death Eater, or repeat to your harm anything you say. I swear I will do my best to help and protect you in any need.'_

_I assume you were wanting to know the exact words for safety reasons? That's quite sensible of you. The intention is clear, but magic doesn't exactly give credit for good intentions. Rather like computers, literal-minded things. Harry can explain that._

_Ron is over the moon about seeing the Cannons next weekend, by the way. Ginny is keen to see Puddlemere and I thank you too for your thoughtfulness in sending the tickets. Tell Harry that Mrs. Weasley insists he should come visit again soon, with you of course. I think she wants to make sure he's eating properly._

_Good luck with the potions – I imagine you've started to test them? And do let me know if you've had any delayed reaction to the removal of the Dark Mark, please. I wrote up some notes on the experiment. It's possible that sometime there will be others who also wish to renounce that allegiance._

_Again, good luck._

_Hermione._

"Chatty sort, isn't she?" Draco remarked, pushing the letter across the table for Harry to read.

"Yeah." Harry smiled reminiscently. "You get used to it." He scanned the parchment and added, "You're _not_ having any problems with your arm, are you?"

Draco shook his head. "Nothing so far, but I'll feel more secure about it when it's been a month or two and I haven't had any twinges or any indication that You-Know-Who can still touch me."

"Voldemort."

"What?"

"Call him Voldemort," Harry repeated. "I know you're used to avoiding it, and that names have power, but so does the _fear_ of a name. Call him Riddle, if you'd rather, but call him by name."

Harry's tone was crisp and Draco could tell he was quite serious about this. "Riddle, then. I'll try to remember, but it'll be hard."

"I'll remind you." Harry flashed a grin, then sobered again. "I'm not asking this to make you uncomfortable. I need help remembering that he's just a person, you see, a truly evil person but still someone who can be defeated. If you call him by name, that'll make me feel better."

"I understand." Draco ate the rest of his breakfast, rereading the words of the Vow as Hermione had put them down, over and over until he was certain he'd memorized them. He didn't doubt that she had them right – when he'd read the letter he had felt a kind of tingle of recognition – although he wondered just how she'd been able to remember so precisely when he hadn't. Perhaps it was a Muggle trick? No, that seemed unlikely given general Muggle haplessness as he'd observed it in his – admittedly limited – experience this summer. Just Granger's general competence, he supposed. Annoying at times, but certainly useful to him now.

"Ready to test the potions?" asked Harry, pushing his crumb-scattered plate away.

Draco nodded. "Shall I fetch the locket?"

"I have it here." Harry patted the pocket of his jeans.

He chose the potion they'd prepared from _Moste Potente Potions_ to test first, but as with the previous one they'd tried, there was no visible result. He pulled the locket dripping out of the cauldron and gave it a frustrated scowl.

"Still one to go, and we've other potions to try brewing still," Draco reminded him. "They may take longer, and use ingredients that are harder to find, but there's time."

"Yeah." Harry sighed. "Well, here goes nothing."

He lowered the locket on its chain into the second cauldron. At first nothing seemed to happen. Harry began to raise it again, his expression glum, when there was a burst of thick mustard-yellow vapor that hovered in a dense cloud and drifted across his face. Harry gasped, the chain slipping from his fingers. The surface of the cauldron roiled and another cloud of vapor rose. Draco was just far enough that he was able to hold his breath and duck down and away, but Harry choked and collapsed onto the floor.

"Harry!" Draco dropped to his knees and crawled toward him, trying to breathe as little as possible, though the cloud had risen and he hoped dispersed. "Oh, _fuck_." Harry was breathing, that was something, but Draco had no idea how badly the poisonous fumes had affected him. He needed help quickly.

Grabbing his wand, Draco concentrated. "_Expecto Patronum!_" He let the love he felt for Harry, the memory of the closeness of Harry's touch on his neck last night, not even sexual but a feeling of _safe warm loved_, fill his being as he spoke the words, and to his great relief the badger appeared. Hastily he tore off a scrap of parchment from the margin of the potion-book and scribbled, _Harry injured. Need bezoar, NOW._

Professor Snape would help, Draco was certain, but... bugger. Snape was a Death Eater, double-agent or no, and Draco couldn't contact him thanks to the Vow. Besides, Harry had made it very clear that he didn't trust Snape one bit. It would have to be Hermione.

"Hermione Granger," Draco whispered to his Patronus. "I need Hermione Granger, _now_!" The badger vanished, and Draco had time to contemplate the irony of his desperate need for a Muggleborn's help as he sat on the cold stone floor, cradling Harry's head in his lap and hoping that she would arrive soon.

* * *

Note: A very slightly more explicit version of this chapter is available on my website. 


	39. In the Bedroom

**39. In the Bedroom**

When the alarm rang, Harry tried to ignore it, but he couldn't ignore Draco's pokes in his side. He pulled on one of Sirius' old dressing gowns over his pyjamas – it was cold in the cellar at night – and followed Draco silently downstairs.

Thank goodness that the potion only interrupted one night's sleep, Harry thought, adding the sassafras. He glanced at Draco, whose face looked as tired as Harry felt, but who seemed undisturbed by having to get up in the middle of the night. Was it that Draco was compelled by his Vow, or did he actually find it satisfying to do such work? Harry couldn't tell. On the way back to their room he took Draco's hand and felt the pulse beating in Draco's wrist.

Draco turned to close the door. The pale light that came through the window caught his thin face, making the bones stand out in sharp relief like a skull crowned with a wig of silvery hair.

_He would die for me. He_ might _die for me._ The realization struck Harry suddenly. That was what the Vow was _about_, wasn't it? Draco putting his own life at stake if he didn't keep his word. And he had done so for Harry, despite their years of enmity, despite his family's traditions, despite the fact that they still disagreed about so much – they might not discuss those ideas often, but Harry hadn't forgotten. The sheer weight of Draco's commitment made him shudder; when Draco slipped into bed beside him, he could only pull the other boy close, kiss him again and again, unable to express the emotions he felt in any other way. At last, reluctantly, he let go, knowing that otherwise neither of them would sleep, and they had to get up to make the last addition of boomslang skin.

"You know, we could test this one today, even though the other won't be ready until tomorrow," said Draco as he stirred.

Harry thought it over. On the one hand he was anxious to find _something_ that would destroy the locket Horcrux as quickly as possible, but on the other... "I want to wait. I know logically it'll make no difference, but it feels like having two to try at once would increase the chances for success."

Grinning, Draco shrugged. "It's illogical all right, but you're the one in charge, so whatever you like."

He agreed, too, to Harry's suggestion that they practice hexes once again, with the proviso that in the afternoon they would try to remember the specific wording of the Unbreakable Vow, so that he wouldn't accidentally go beyond its limits. Harry had no quarrel with that.

After an invigorating practice session in the garden – Harry was sure that they were both improving, and Draco was noticeably less hesitant than he'd been the previous day – and lunch, they talked about Harry's plans.

"I'd like to have Hermione try to reconstruct Voldemort's movements before and during the last war," Harry explained. "That might give us some ideas for places where he might have hidden the other Horcruxes. The problem is that even if she gets permission to look into Ministry records, it'll take months."

"What would you do in the meantime?" Draco looked concerned.

"I'm not sure."

"Well," said Draco, "you asked once before if I'd ever overheard anything that might be useful. I haven't been able to remember anything much. _But_... there could be things in my father's rooms at home – hidden, no doubt, and maybe with curses protecting them too. We'd both have to go look."

"You'd do that?" It couldn't be easy for Draco to make such an offer. Swearing fidelity to Harry was one thing; that could be seen as a clever ploy, to put one Malfoy on each side in this war. Searching Lucius Malfoy's rooms was a far more personal betrayal.

Draco nodded. "There might not be anything of any use, mind you. And I'd want to be sure that I knew the Vow accurately before we went, just in case."

"Oh, of course. What did you want me to do to help?"

They ended up in the library, each of them trying to recall the exact words as best he could, Draco's quill scritch-scritching as he scribbled down the phrases. Harry was ashamed at how little he remembered. Something so important to both of them, and he obviously hadn't bothered to pay attention.

"Send it to Hermione," he told Draco when they'd done their best. "I don't know how she manages, but she has a wonderful memory for this sort of thing."

A little reluctantly, Draco wrote the letter. Harry wondered if his hesitation had the same origins as Harry's own embarrassment. To make Draco feel better, he said softly, "I'll make it worth your while," and was delighted when Draco's expression shifted from gloom to pleasure.

Harry didn't bother suggesting they go upstairs once Hedwig had departed with the rolled-up parchment tied to her leg. He simply pulled Draco down with him onto the library carpet, and concentrated on finding ways to keep that smile on Draco's face. If Draco had been this relaxed and happy back at Hogwarts, Ron's comparison to a ferret would have been completely inaccurate – well, aside from the time Draco had been actually Transfigured. Harry hid his grin at the memory against Draco's neck.

That evening Harry convinced Draco to play wizarding chess instead of Gobstones, for a change. Somewhat to his surprise Harry won three games in a row. When Draco suggested they could play something else, Harry's first impulsive response was, "Don't like to lose, eh?"

He meant it as a joke, really, and regretted it even before the hurt had settled on Draco's face. Draco had _already_ lost – his parents, his home, his future. That Harry had lost those things too didn't make any difference.

"I'm sorry," he apologized before Draco could speak. "That was really unfair of me. I chose chess; what would you like to do instead?"

Draco was visibly trying to stay calm. "How about another glass of wine, and I could maybe read to you, instead of playing games?"

No one had ever read to Harry, as far back as he could recall, and it sounded rather nice. The book Draco chose was about King Arthur and Merlin, which Harry enjoyed. Draco read several chapters, and then Harry took over once Draco's throat began to tire.

As Harry read, Draco leaned against him, slowly slipping down so that his head was on Harry's lap. Harry held the book in his left hand, turning the pages from the bottom with his thumb and little finger, and rested his right hand on Draco's shoulder, that thumb resting against Draco's neck. He could feel the blood pulsing under the skin as if trying to escape.

He worried that Draco might still be too annoyed by his thoughtless remark to want to do any fooling around when they went up to bed, but Draco evidently never considered that possibility, reciprocating Harry's tentative advances with fervor. They clung together, sweaty, hips bucking under each other's hands, and if Draco was speechless now, Harry made up for it by chanting Draco's name again and again until he felt Draco arch and moan beneath him, spilling sticky semen over them both, pulling at Harry's prick with glittering-eyed intensity until Harry came too.

The following morning Dobby woke them with the news that Hedwig had returned with a message from Hermione.

"What time is it?" Harry reluctantly dragged his head from the pillow.

"Nearly eight o'clock. Is Master Harry not ready to eat the breakfast Dobby has prepared?" Dobby was very nearly dancing in his worried earnestness.

"Yes, all right. Go give Hedwig some sausage and we'll be right down," said Harry. He nudged Draco. "C'mon, lazy, we can test those two potions today, remember?"

Pulling on the first clothes that came to hand, he headed downstairs while Draco was washing up. He fed Hedwig bits from his plate as he waited for Draco, then handed him the still-sealed letter. Draco looked surprised, but opened it and read quickly through the message before pushing it back to Harry.

As he'd suspected, Hermione had remembered the words of Draco's Vow more accurately than either of them, and she inquired to make sure that there'd been no lingering effects from the removal of the Dark Mark from Draco's arm.

"No, although I'll be more certain there won't be any when it's been rather longer since You-Know-Who summoned me," Draco told Harry.

"Call him Voldemort," Harry said in sudden decision. He'd always disliked the wizarding habit of avoiding the name, and he knew Dumbledore would have agreed. "The _fear_ of a name can have as much power as the name himself. Or call him Riddle, if you'd rather. But _use_ his name, don't avoid it."

"Riddle. Maybe I can do that. I'll try to remember."

"I'll remind you. It helps _me_ remember that he's just a person; evil, no question, but someone who can be defeated."

Harry felt relieved to have hinted at his fears when Draco said soberly, "I understand."

They ate mostly in silence after that, the few words exchanged limited mostly to things like, "Pass the jam?" Draco was rereading Hermione's letter. Harry thought with mixed anxiety and hope about the potions they were to test. As soon as Draco lifted the last bite of egg to his mouth, Harry asked if he was ready.

Harry had the locket with him, so they went straight down to the makeshift laboratory, looking less temporary now with all their supplies there and two cauldrons simmering, the others set aside.

"I'll try this one first," Harry decided, uncovering the cauldron with the potion Draco had found in _Moste Potente Potions_. He pulled out the locket and held his breath as he dipped it into the viscous fluid, but nothing happened. He scowled, disappointed though he'd tried not to expect too much.

"We can try some of the other recipes, remember. Even if they take longer or use more unusual ingredients, there's time – and we could search for the other Horcruxes meanwhile." Draco's words were irritatingly reasonable.

"Yeah, and there's one more to test today, I know, I know. Here goes nothing."

He let the locket drop into the second cauldron. Again, nothing happened for a moment. Just as Harry was pulling it out again by the chain, the surface of the potion began to roil and bubble and let off a burst of yellow vapor that Harry couldn't avoid breathing. He choked, feeling the chain slip from his suddenly-numb fingers. His legs went rubbery and as he collapsed on the floor, he thought he heard Draco calling his name. Before he could try to answer, darkness overtook him.

"It shouldn't be taking this long."

"He breathed in the fumes. That's going to have permeated his body differently from a case of ingestion or a contact poison."

"Did his eyelids move?"

"Harry? Harry, try to open your eyes if you can hear me."

There was a foul taste in Harry's mouth; he could feel something on his tongue and tried to turn his head to spit it out.

"Leave the bezoar there."

A hand touched his cheek. Not Draco's. That was Hermione's voice, too. What was she doing here? Harry's eyelids seemed to be gummed together, but he forced them open.

Hermione's face floated in front of him, looking worried, but she smiled at him in a relieved sort of way. "Don't try to move quite yet."

"Wha...?" he managed to croak out.

"Or talk." _There_ was Draco, squeezing Harry's hand.

"You breathed in some fumes when the potion dissolved the Horcrux. I'm not sure why the two reacted together like that; if it was the fact it was a Horcrux, or something about the locket itself. You collapsed. Draco sent his Patronus to me to bring a bezoar. It's in your mouth now, and I'm sure it tastes nasty, but keep sucking it. I came as fast as I could – lucky thing Mrs. Weasley had the bezoar, she says she keeps one around for emergencies – but for a while we weren't sure it had been fast enough. You nearly died."

Another squeeze from Draco. Harry wanted to say something positive about Draco managing to send a message to Hermione with his Patronus, but his throat was too constricted to say so many words just then. He blinked a few times and tried to return the pressure. It was still hard to see and he realized his glasses were missing. He squinted at Hermione, blinking again, and grunted.

"Oh – here." She reached over and settled his glasses back onto his face. "We levitated you up here as soon as your breathing was mostly back to normal; it seemed like it would be more comfortable than that stone floor."

Now Harry could see clearly that he was in the bedroom, propped up on several pillows. He succeeded in giving her a nod, and Hermione smiled.

"Ron's downstairs – can he come up and see you?"

Harry looked at her, wanting to ask why Ron wasn't in the room already, whether Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were there too. He opened his mouth to try to speak, but only coughed, nearly spitting out the bezoar.

"He's really worried, Harry. I didn't tell Mrs. Weasley what happened, just that you needed a bezoar right away for something, but of course Ron insisted on coming with me. Not Ginny, though, since she can't Apparate yet. Ron was checking to see if the locket was completely destroyed while Draco and I brought you up here. Shall I bring him now?"

Slowly Harry said, "Yes," through the rasp in his throat.

He let go of Draco's hand as Hermione rose and went over to the door, flinging it open and calling, "Ron! He's conscious – he's going to be all right – come up here!"

When Harry released his hold, Draco looked at him expressionlessly, then he, too, stood and moved away from the bed, so that he was looking out the window into the back garden. Ron burst into the room.

"You're really okay? Merlin, but I was worried. Thought you were dead, mate, thought we'd made it here too late." Ron thumped Harry gently on the shoulder. "Guess I have to give Malfoy some credit, huh?" he added with less enthusiasm.

"Definitely," Harry managed to say before he was seized by another fit of coughing.

"Be sure to keep that bezoar under your tongue, Harry, and try not to talk," said Hermione.

She sounded so matter-of-fact and bossy and _Hermione_ that Harry laughed in the middle of his cough. Eyes streaming, he nodded as she frowned at him.

"It might take another hour or even more before it's fully counteracted the poison," she said. "We'll stay until you're sure to be fine."

"I'll just go down and clear up the mess in the cellar," said Draco abruptly. Without another glance at Harry, he left, the door snicking quietly shut behind him.

"What's eating _his_ lunch?" Ron muttered.

Harry bit his lip but didn't try to answer, not with the stare that Hermione was giving him.

"Anyhow, I poked through that cauldron, and there was nothing of the locket left in it as far as I could tell. One more Horcrux gone, Harry. That's great," said Ron, plopping down on Harry's bed. "D'you know what you're going to do next? Oh, never mind, you can tell us later, don't try to talk. We'll amuse you for a while, you rest."

For the next half-hour Ron chattered excitedly about Quidditch and the match on Saturday, and Hermione discussed the research she'd been doing on various curses that she thought Harry might find useful, "Whenever it comes to that."

Finally Harry said, "Could I have something to drink? The bezoar's nearly dissolved and it tastes horrible."

"Oh." Hermione's hands flew to her mouth. "Of course. Ron, would you?"

"Dobby's here," Harry told them.

"Right, I'll go get him to make some tea or something. I'm sure Harry's paying him, Hermione, don't look like that. Back in a bit." Ron disappeared into the hallway.

"Harry, is everything okay? Other than this accident?" Hermione's expression was serious. "With Draco, I mean?"

"It has been." Harry felt his face grow hot. "Um. You know."

"You're going to have to tell Ron sometime," she pointed out. "Sooner better than later."

"Yeah, but... I hate to hurt Ginny, and if I tell Ron, she's bound to find out," he said softly.

"I don't think you have a choice. It's not fair to _anyone_ if you're not honest about what's happening. You love him, don't you?"

Hearing Hermione ask the question straight out made Harry's throat grow tight. He nodded, swallowing hard.

"Didn't Professor Dumbledore tell you that the weapon you had, but Voldemort didn't, was love?"

Harry nodded again. Close enough.

"Well, then – it seems to me that even if it's not necessarily what either of you intended, you should hang onto it." Hermione gave him a little smile. "Ginny's my friend, and I want her to be happy... but if you're in love with Draco, then she _wouldn't_ be happy with you. So. Letting her think you still love her when you don't –"

"But I do," Harry interrupted. "It's not that I don't feel anything for Ginny, it's just..." He trailed off helplessly.

Hermione shook her head. "You have to choose; I don't think that either Ginny _or_ Draco would be happy with the situation if you tried to hold onto both of them."

She was right, of course. Harry might have liked that, but it wasn't possible. He sighed. "Yeah."

"So tell Ron, soon," said Hermione.

"Tell me what?" Ron asked, pushing the door further open with his shoulder and carrying in a tray on which sat several cups of steaming tea and a plate of biscuits. "Dobby wanted to bring this up, but I wouldn't let him," he said, holding the tray out for Harry to take a cup. "What are you supposed to tell me?"

Was it better to tell Ron now? Harry tried to think, his head still aching a little with the aftermath of the poison. Probably. Draco wasn't there. If Ron were upset, and he probably would be, he might well blame Draco, even though it wasn't Draco's fault... _fault_ wasn't the right word anyway. Not for something so good. With an effort, Harry pulled his attention back to Ron.

"Sit down. Hermione, could you shut the door?" Harry took a drink of his tea as she did and felt the warmth seeping through him.

Ron looked at Harry curiously, reaching for a chocolate-dipped biscuit. "Okay, so tell me."

"It's about Draco," Harry began.

"This accident today? Did he have something to do with that?" Ron's fists clenched. "I _knew _you shouldn't have stayed here alone with him, that little..."

"_No_," said Harry and Hermione simultaneously.

"_Think_, Ron – Draco couldn't have caused it. He took an Unbreakable Vow; you heard him yourself," Hermione said.

"Then what? What's he done?"

"He... I... we're together, Ron," said Harry in a rush.

"You're _what_?"

"They're... they're going out. Like you and I are." Hermione's voice was high, and Harry was grateful that she'd spoken because Ron turned to stare at her for a moment instead of glaring at Harry.

"Harry and _Malfoy_?"

"Draco," Harry corrected. Ron swivelled back to look at him.

"You must be bloody joking. That smarmy git?" Ron was nearly yelling now. "I don't believe it. He must have put some kind of charm on you... a curse, more likely. What are you _thinking_, Harry? How could you do something like that, do that to Ginny?"

"Ron, _please_."

"Please what? Please sit here and listen to Harry tell me that he broke up with my _sister_ to do I-don't-want-to-know-what with a fucking _Slytherin_, a fucking _Death Eater_, not to mention someone who's made all of our lives _miserable_ for the past six years? Bloody hell!" Ron had jumped up and was pacing angrily around the room. "I wouldn't have thought you could be so stupid. Yeah, _stupid_. Trusting _Malfoy_?"

"Shut up!" Harry surprised himself by shouting. He surprised Ron, too, who stopped dead in the middle of waving his arms. Hermione gave a squeak, looking from Ron to Harry and back.

"_Don't_, Ron. It just happened. I didn't plan this, and I'm not doing it to hurt Ginny. I _wouldn't_, and you should know that." His voice was shaking, partly still from the aftereffects of the poison but mostly from anger.

Ron flinched.

"You don't have to become best friends with Draco, but don't call me stupid for liking him." Harry held back from reminding Ron about his relationship with Lavender Brown, hardly an example of picking a person to date with whom you had a lot in common. "Would you be so upset if it were – I don't know – Pansy Parkinson? Is it because he's a Slytherin, or because he's a bloke?"

"Harry." Ron's voice cracked. "It's _Malfoy_."

"Ron – please. Please don't make me say something we'll both regret," said Harry quietly. "Draco saved my life today. He's pledged his own life to me. Whatever happened in the past, and yeah, there was plenty of hostility to go around, I don't deny that – it's over now. He's not the same person he used to be. If I can forgive him, can't you?"

"I just... I can't believe you've changed this much in a fortnight," said Ron, sitting down again and absentmindedly picking up another biscuit. Harry relaxed a little bit. "I'd never have figured you for a shirt-lifter. Oh, _Merlin_." Ron's eyes went wide. "You weren't... you didn't..."

"Don't worry, Ron." Harry laughed, a chuckle that nearly turned into another round of coughing. He cleared his throat. "I haven't spent the last few years staring at your arse, if that's what you're wondering."

"No, I mean, you _did_ like Ginny, right? Circe's tits, you weren't pretending about _that_?"

Harry shook his head. "I did like her. I _do_ like her. But right now... this feels more right, to me. I guess I like both girls and boys, is all."

"Is all, he says." Ron sighed. "I don't get it, but that's hardly new, is it?"

"As long as you don't say we can't be friends any more, does it matter?"

"Yeah. Well."

For a minute or two there was silence. Ron ate his biscuit with a kind of concentrated intensity, not looking at either Harry or Hermione, who exchanged helpless glances.

"What do _you_ think, Hermione?" Ron asked eventually.

"I think what matters most is that Harry feels able to keep on going with the search for the Horcruxes, so that someday he can confront Voldemort," said Hermione. "Because if he doesn't, then none of the rest of it makes much difference. Besides – if _we_ couldn't accept Harry wanting to be with Draco, that wouldn't be any better really than _Draco_ being prejudiced against me for being Muggleborn." She shrugged slightly and took a ginger biscuit, the crunch of it loud under her teeth. "Since I was the one he sent for when Harry needed help, I'd say he's past that now, mostly at least."

"When you put it like that... I suppose you're right."

"Is she ever _not_ right?" Harry joked, and all three of them laughed together, much to his relief. It would still be hard to tell Ginny, but he realized that if Ron had been completely unaccepting, that would have been worse.

"It _has_ been known to happen," said Hermione. "Just not often." She winked and they laughed again before she asked, "How do you feel now, Harry?"

"A lot better." Harry stretched tentatively. "I could probably get up."

"All right, but don't overstrain yourself."

They hadn't taken off his clothes, just his shoes, when they brought him up and put him in bed, so within moments Harry was on the stairs, followed by Ron and Hermione.

"Use the handrail," Hermione said in a worried tone.

"Leave him be, he can manage."

Harry didn't stop at the foot of the stairs, but kept going, along to the narrower staircase down to the cellar. He could hear small clinks and rustles ahead – Draco, clearing up as he'd said he would. Thankfully it looked as though the cauldron hadn't tipped over or anything of the sort; Draco was tidying up all of the ingredients, organizing them in neat rows on the rickety shelves behind where they'd brewed.

"Draco," Harry said, and after a pause during which he saw Draco's shoulders tighten, the other boy turned around.

"Yes?" Draco looked calm, but his voice held a brittle edge. "You're all right then?"

"I wouldn't be, without you," said Harry. Leaving Ron and Hermione standing back in the doorway, he walked up to Draco and put his arms around him. Draco jerked in startlement.

"What...?" He was tense in Harry's embrace, peering past him at the other two.

"You're the most important person in my life right now, Draco, and not just because you saved it," said Harry, low. "I'm sorry."

Draco pulled back a little, his eyes searching Harry's face, and he nodded slowly.

"Okay, Harry." He reached up to touch Harry's cheek and brought their lips together in a brief kiss, then broke away and gave just a hint of a smile as he took Harry's hand.

With Draco by his side, Ron and Hermione behind ready to support him, and beyond Grimmauld Place the Order of the Phoenix and all his friends who'd been part of Dumbledore's Army – Harry felt hope surge within him as he turned toward the future.  



	40. At Last, in the Cellar

**40. At Last, in the Cellar**

Draco waited, hope fading within him as the minutes trickled past. Harry was heavy in his arms and the floor was cold under his legs, but he scarcely noticed. He held one hand against Harry's neck, feeling his pulse beat more and more slowly, and anxiously watched Harry's chest to make sure he kept breathing. None of the healing spells he'd ever learned were of any help; those were all for minor cuts, or burns, or bruises, and Harry's condition was far more serious than that.

"Please. Please Harry, you can't die like this," he said over and over in a thready whisper, straining his ears for any sound that might mean Hermione had arrived with the bezoar Harry so desperately needed.

At last – he didn't know how long, it seemed like hours but was probably no more than twenty minutes – he heard a voice calling, "Draco?"

"Down here." He cleared his throat and yelled louder. "Down here in the cellar!" Of course, in that frantic note he hadn't written anything to say exactly where they were.

Footsteps clattered down the stairs – two sets of them. She'd brought Weasley along. Wonderful. Hah. At least Ginny wasn't there too; Draco doubted that he could have stood that.

"I have a bezoar." Hermione knelt beside him, breathless.

"Put it in his mouth," Draco said, shifting his hold on Harry so that his body was more upright, though his head lolled to one side. "Quickly!"

She forced Harry's mouth open and began to push in the bezoar.

"Try to get it under his tongue, he'll be less likely to choke," Draco told her.

"What happened?" Weasley demanded.

"A potion." Draco didn't bother to look up, watching Harry's face carefully. His breath was already coming a little easier, wasn't it? Surely it was. "The one that your sister found the recipe for. He was testing to see if it would destroy the locket; there was a reaction neither of us expected, and he breathed in the fumes. Poisonous, obviously."

Weasley's hand fell heavily on Draco's shoulder. "Nice story, Malfoy. Why didn't you breathe them, too, then?"

"_Ron_." Hermione's voice cut across any response Draco might have had. "It doesn't matter right now. We need to get Harry someplace more comfortable. I'll levitate him, and Draco can help guide where we go – would you check on the potion, please? See that it's not still dangerous... and what happened to the Horcrux. Harry will want to know that."

"Yeah, all right," said Ron after a moment, letting Draco go. "Don't want to lose any evidence."

Really, this was ridiculous. Draco had thought they'd reached a certain understanding back when they'd had that conversation in the Muggle sweet shop in Bath, but apparently not. Evidence that purity of blood had no correlation with brains or even common sense, but right now there were far more urgent things to do than to point out the many flaws in Weasley's assumptions.

He let go his grip on Harry as Hermione cast _Mobilicorpus_, and stood up, his legs a bit shaky from sitting still for so long on the chilly stone floor. "Upstairs – I'll show you."

Weasley gave a grunt and a glare, as if he thought Draco were going to try to hex his girlfriend as soon as they left the cellar. Even if he had wanted to do so, which he didn't, that was awfully unlikely given that Hermione had her wand out already while Draco's was tucked away in a pocket.

Once they'd reached the ground floor, she asked, "Now where? The sofa in the library?"

"No, our bedroom would be more comfortable, and not that much further – just up one more flight of stairs." In his continuing concern, Draco didn't realize that he'd said "our bedroom" rather than "Harry's bedroom" until he saw the look Hermione was giving him. Then he flushed. Well, it wasn't as if she shouldn't have known, not after that enhancement spell she'd used to help remove the Dark Mark from his arm.

Dobby had already made the bed, thankfully. Hermione settled Harry onto it and pulled off his shoes as Draco adjusted the pillows, propping Harry up so that he could breathe more easily. He was still unconscious, and Draco turned a worried look on Hermione.

"The faster the bezoar is administered after someone's been poisoned, the faster they recover," Hermione reminded him, "and it _did_ take a little while for me to arrive here with it after your summons. But I'm sure he'll be fine." Her voice was confident, but Draco saw her fingers twisting the edge of the sheet.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"What?" he replied warily. Surely, unlike Weasley, she didn't think he'd had anything to do with Harry's injuries.

"I know it's none of my business, really. I'm only asking because Harry's my friend, and I want him to be happy. Do you... are you in love with him?" Her face went pink.

It _wasn't_ any of her business, Draco agreed, but he could hardly deny it, not when she'd found him holding Harry in his arms less than half an hour earlier, not after everything she'd already seen.

"Yes." He threw the word at her defiantly.

"Thank goodness." She sounded relieved. "I mean, I was fairly certain, after the other day, but I could have been wrong. He _needs_ to be loved, D-draco," she stumbled almost imperceptibly over his name, "and to love someone else. That's his gift, that's what he has that V-voldemort doesn't." The stutter was greater over Voldemort's name, but she still said it more smoothly than Draco probably would have.

"He's never told me that," Draco said, bemused.

"I don't know if he entirely believes it himself. And I don't know quite how it works, if it _is_ true... he used to be protected, you know, that's why he survived as a baby, because of his mother's love. But not since," she shivered and touched Harry's wrist, "Voldemort used his blood to come back. Anyhow. Professor Dumbledore hinted that love was what might let Harry win in the end, and he _has_ to win." Hermione looked down at Harry's scarred face. "He _has_ to. If being with you is what will help him, then I'll support that." Her voice turned fierce. "But if you break his heart before this is all over, believe me, you'll regret it."

No one had ever stood up for Draco, defended him, the way that Hermione was defending Harry, like a mother dragon protecting her eggs. Professor Snape had kept him from having to kill Dumbledore, but that was an entirely different thing. None of Draco's friends in Slytherin would have talked like this, not unless they saw some personal benefit to be gained.

"I think you've just shown how love can help him, actually." Draco picked up one of Harry's limp hands, chafing it between his own. "It doesn't seem like it should be taking this long."

"He _did_ breathe in the fumes. That'll have a different effect from ingestion or contact poisons; lungs are delicate."

Just then Draco thought he felt Harry's fingers twitch. Had he imagined it? He leaned across to get a better look at Harry's face. "Did his eyelids move?"

"Harry?" Hermione asked hopefully. "Try to open your eyes if you can hear me."

That was definitely a flutter. Harry's lips parted, his head rolling to one side as he grimaced slightly. Draco felt the tension leaving him in a rush of relief. The bezoar had been the best and quickest antidote he could think of, but that didn't mean it would necessarily be a complete success. Thank Merlin it seemed to have worked.

"Don't spit out the bezoar, or try to move just yet," said Hermione.

Harry's eyes opened a fraction, then a bit more, and he made an interrogative sort of noise.

"Don't talk yet, either." Draco gripped Harry's hand tightly, observing Harry's face. Green eyes gazed back, a little befuddled-looking, but that was to be expected.

Hermione was explaining what had happened; Draco was content to leave her to it, just watching Harry, who kept blinking. Oh – Hermione'd taken off Harry's glasses for the trip upstairs. Before Draco could say a word, though, Hermione had evidently realized the same thing and slid them back onto Harry's nose. They made him look far better, more normal, immediately.

Now she asked, "Do you feel able to see Ron? He's down making certain that the locket was destroyed – I knew you'd want be sure."

A cough from Harry, and then, "Yes," spoken slowly but without hesitation. He looked at Draco, and as Hermione went to the doorway to call for Ron, Harry let go of Draco's hand, folding his own together across his lap.

It was like taking a Bludger to the stomach, especially after Hermione's talk of love and how much Harry needed it, both receiving and giving. _He's still affected by those fumes_, Draco told himself, but he couldn't keep looking at Harry just then or he might fall apart, and that would do no one any good. Shaking, trying not to let Harry see it, Draco stood up and was looking out the window when Ron arrived.

"Merlin, you had me worried. Thought we might have been too late," said Ron. "But you're really okay? Guess I have to give Malfoy _some_ credit then," he added with distinctly less pleasure in his voice.

There was no point in staying. Draco doubted that Weasley had bothered to clear up any of the mess after he'd checked on the Horcrux, so he said, "I'll just go down and tidy up in the cellar." Without looking back at the bed, he left, closing the door behind him.

He leaned against the wall in the corridor, taking deep breaths, hearing the voices of Hermione and Ron chattering away. If he was so unwelcome... Draco sighed. There was nowhere else he could go, even if he wanted, and maybe it was simply that Harry felt awkward holding his hand in front of Ron? Maybe. He hoped.

Draco straightened and walked steadily down to the cellar. As he'd expected, Weasley had done nothing except to pour the potion from one cauldron to another to check that the locket was gone. Draco pushed up his sleeves. He would bottle what remained – it might still have some useful properties, and in any case needed to be disposed of properly – and then start scrubbing out the cauldrons. Hard work was an excellent distraction.

Once everything was cleaned, Draco started to sort and organize the remaining supplies that Harry had brought back from Diagon Alley. Nothing close to a fully-stocked potions cabinet, of course, but with a few more basics added, Draco could probably put together some useful brews. Polyjuice Potion took a long time to brew, but it seemed unlikely to be needed right away, and if unused could be kept for years. Then there were things like the Draught of Peace, and Strengthening Solution, and the Invigoration Draught. Maybe it would be worth attempting Felix Felicis... although that could go rather badly wrong. He'd have to think about it. Too bad Professors Snape or even Slughorn weren't here, but maybe together he and Hermione could manage?

Wrapped up in considering what ingredients were on hand, and what else would be needed for the potions he was considering, Draco only realized that Harry was standing behind him when he heard a cough. He didn't want to turn around. There were more sounds than Harry alone could be making, which meant that at least one of the others was there too. If he didn't turn around, though, they'd think he was afraid.

"Draco." Harry's voice was hoarser than usual.

"Yes?" Reluctantly Draco faced him. "You're all right then?"

Harry was closer than he'd thought; two strides brought him up to Draco, and then Harry was holding him tight. Across the room Draco could see Ron making a disgusted face, but Hermione looked pleased, and she had hold of Ron's hand.

"What are you...?"

"I'm sorry, Draco. _You're_ the most important person in my life right now, and not just because you saved it today," Harry said quietly. "Forgive me?"

Draco took a deep breath, let it out, searching Harry's face, filled with regret and hope battling for ascendance. They had forgiven each other for far worse; compared to a kick in the face, or the Sectumsempra curse, what was a dropped hand, after all? "Okay." Defying Ron's disapproval, he brushed his lips over Harry's, and reached for his hand.

Two weeks and two days it had been since he'd stumbled into the pub in Godric's Hollow, desperately seeking Harry on Snape's orders. In sixteen days their worlds had turned upside down, changing them from enemies to lovers. Whatever the next days and weeks and months might bring, they would meet the challenges together.

Forgiveness, after all, was better than revenge.

THE END 


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